


Pondering Internally and Goading Godlings Over Things

by Inthretis



Category: Parahumans Series - Wildbow
Genre: Comedy, Gen, Genre Savvy, POV First Person, Piggot POV
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:01:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26454562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inthretis/pseuds/Inthretis
Summary: Wherein Director Piggot is 300% more genre savvy and 200% more self aware. Suffering is roughly the same though.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

—

I had a headache, and it wasn't because of my medication. Or the dialysis. Or any Thinker headaches, since I wasn't a cape. I'm 99% sure. For all I know, there are Thinkers out there who have a Stranger power that made them appear powerless on an MRI. That sounds like the kind of bullshit that exists in Brockton Bay.

No, I had a headache because the Simurgh had just attacked Canberra, and now almost all of the Protectorate were off fighting a goddamn giant monster that mind raped people because we can't have nice things. I wasn't a Simurgh bomb, I was just fighting off a nasty cold where I had taken my first day off since I got this job almost a decade ago.

The Simurgh is why we can't have nice things. I flipped the bird, knowing with vague certainty that her precognition allowed her to see it, even all the way in Australia. Probably.

All regional directors were supposed to be awake and ready for anything while an Endbringer attacks, but this headache was monstrous, even by my standards. So here I was, my head thumping like an overly loud concert in my office instead of sleeping off whatever infection I had, in my comfortable bed. I'm just going to lay back in my chair. Surely just mulling over Simurgh trivia in my head would make up for it. Shaker, Tinker, Master/Shaker, Thinker…

I jolted upright. I blearily recalled something I saw on the news just the other day. Canary was often compared to the Simurgh, with feathers and a Master ability that affected humans at a distance. She also wore yellow. You know who else is yellow and can affect humans at a distance?

Glory Girl.

I reached into my drawer and pulled out a stack of folders. There are many different levels of clearance available. The first level is public, official releases of information. At this level, Glory Girl was listed as Shaker 1. Wouldn't do to have the local teen superhero also be a human Master. This level of info was sparse and filled with rampant internet speculation, since most civilian level instructions amounted to "RUN", "HIDE", and "CALL FOR HELP". Also, unofficially of course: "YOU'RE FUCKED."

Just above the first level was PRT trooper, they had much more practical detail. Here, Glory Girl was still Shaker 1, but her file listed its known effects in the field, as well as strategies to combat it. Those kinds of files brought back nostalgia as well as a niggling feeling of rage.

One half level above that was the version for Wards. It includes in depth threat assessment as well as known power interactions, and further combat strategies that takes power use into account. This is the first level to actually acknowledge the fact that Glory Girl was a Master/Shaker, although it's still listed as level 1.

Then there's the Protectorate level, which has Thinker analysis as well, and perhaps some more sensitive information: concerning known operations, speculations, casualty count, and other information that was decidedly not kid-friendly. Usually unsavory vices and gross human rights violations.

At the Director level (well, there was surely a level above for the Chief Director's eyes only), with in depth information that even capes would balk at. This was where the Unwritten Rules broke down, where Watchdog and human analysts alike worked to determine the civilian identities of every villain in the United States. A very substantial percentage of the Protectorate would quit if this speculation was made known to them, so we try to keep mum.

Finally, there is my personal level. It's the same as the Director level of course, but it's filled with my own thoughts and suspicions. Here, I wrote down, scrawled in pencil Glory Girl's rating the first time I met her: Master/Shaker 3+(?). I could tell that her aura was being used passively, but even then the effect was quite noticeable. If she worked at it, trained it, focused it on her enemies, she could stop an entire PRT contingent without even touching them. The fact that she wasn't even practicing that aspect was suspicious.

All capes have an urge to use their powers, like addicts that made their own product, and occasionally sold it to others. The Merchants were just the ones to take it literally.

Fucking Merchants. I'd have had them rooted out years ago, if it weren't for the much larger gangs in the city, and that stupid idea that maybe, just maybe, Squealer and Skidmark et al could take part in an Endbringer battle. Orders from up top, as it were. Never mind all the drugs being pumped out onto the streets, nor the teens whisked away to a shitty drugged up life.

The only somewhat beatable target, and I can't deal with them. Status quo is God. Just wish I could do something about it.

Now, I have no delusions that I'm important. I'm a minor character at best in the grand scheme of things. I at least hoped to be the stern no nonsense mentor character (or at least let Armsmaster be that, if it means I can avoid death by teaching), but since last year, I've come to terms with the fact that the PRT and Protectorate ENE were not the A Team. We're almost definitely antagonists.

Well, at least an obstacle to overcome. How am I so sure? It's simple really: Triumph and Gallant. Triumph is the mayor's son, and Gallant is a billionaire. It reeks of privilege so hard we're clearly the asshole rival baseball team the underdogs will have to beat for the state championship.

And don't even get me started on the whole "mayor's son" thing. That just stinks of someone on his family being kidnapped for ransom and/or superpowers. Because powers tend to run in families.

Where was I? Oh yes, status quo. It's been like this for almost a year now, and that's just concerning. This was Brockton Bay, and this tense almost-lack-of-change just smelled of a storm approaching. Now, we got Shadow Stalker to join the Wards back in September, and there was that new Undersiders gang that formed recently, but besides Coil entrenching himself further, and the E88 and ABB doing their thing, nothing's been really different.

Something's going to break, and when it happens, all hell will break loose.

I groaned and waited. Soon, Armsmaster and pals will return to the Bay, and we can get back to the grind.

—

March was a dull month, but at least it was predictably dull, comparatively. Of course, when your job meant dealing with every parahuman in the city, and beyond, March was just another hectic month.

So there's a new bomb Tinker up in New York. She wasn't captured, but almost got away with murdering an entire university in a gigantic explosion. And she escaped. Damn it, Legend.

No big deal, it's not that important— wait a minute, she's from Boston. And Asian. And crazy. Looks like the ABB has a new member. The New York PRT knows her identity. And they still didn't catch her. God damn it, Legend.

That's a potential inciting incident if I ever saw one. She might not be a protagonist, but she sounds important. But of course, there is no way I'd be able to get funding or aid based on a "that crazy Asian cape will probably be recruited by the Asian gang in the city about a hundred miles away from New York but close within driving distance from her birth city".

Because that would be racist.

Never mind the fact of course Lung would jump at the chance of hiring one of the few not-yet-affiliated Asian villains on the East coast. _Especially_ a Tinker.

Especially since we have evidence of Lung leaving Brockton Bay sometime just after the bombing attempt and the Tinker's escape.

What were we even paying Watchdog for, anyway? Oh wait, it's to not turn villain and work for the public good, that's why.

So, now we have a crazy bomb Tinker in the city, probably. She's laying low, almost definitely building up Tinker tech and bombs, equipping the ABB with exploding bullshit in their inevitable war against the E88 for territory. With any luck, they'd attack the Merchants first, but I doubt we'd be so lucky. Probably.

Our main priority would be to stop bomb detonations, followed by the capture of the Tinker and removal of Tinker tech weapons distributed to the ABB.

It's all speculation of course, and I had a reputation to uphold. I couldn't just "waste PRT resources" willy-nilly on "imagined threats". Perish the thought we be proactive in preventing a mad bomber from blowing us all to smithereens.

Everything is going to have to be in-house, using as little resources and personnel as possible. That would mean… using parahumans. Tinkers, given enough time, were hard counters for most other capes by virtue of adaptability, sheer bullshit, and preparation. The only parahumans that can match them were Thinkers and other Tinkers.

Thinkers available in Brockton Bay were… Gallant, except he reads people, not locations. We think the Undersiders have a Thinker, but that's speculative at best. Uber? Tinkers around are Kid Win, Armsmaster, and… Leet.

I'm no Tinker, but going from laser guns and a hoverboard to sniffing out and defusing Tinker made bombs somewhere in the city was a huge step up. That, and the Youth Guard would string me up by my dialysis tubes.

Calling on Armsmaster and tasking him with developing a device that can detect bombs would make sense. And he definitely could do it, and if not, he had an in with Dragon. Yes, that was a very prudent course of action, and I can play to his ego too, be the best Tinker in the city, able to find all the bomb Tinker's bombs before they go off. I'll have to call him in soon.

What else is he working on? Let's see… based on his recent reports, he was working on a tranquilizer that can knock out Lung, a lie detector, and a halberd that can kill an Endbringer. Well, can't really fault him for trying the latter, so I'll just tell him to take some time away from the lie detector and tranquilizer. It's not like Lung's going anywhere. Except out to New York for a recruitment drive, but that's beside the point.

—

It was the beginning of April when I went over events for the upcoming month. Nothing too spectacular, since most of it was empty besides the Wards doing community outreach, on account of supervillains not working on a schedule.

Well they did: drug shipments, racketeering, recruitment rallies, and the like, but we weren't privy to those schedules, so we just winged it and responded whenever something caught our eye.

No wonder we were losing the streets. If only we had the budget and personnel for a better investigative unit. Miss Militia and I playing amateur detective and Armsmaster waving his magic staff around doesn't really cut it. Alas, another dream.

A quick glance at one notable scheduled event made me raise an eyebrow. Hmm, a PR event where of all the Protectorate would be away. That definitely does not sound like something the local villains would take advantage of, leaving us defenseless against dangerous parahumans. No siree, they'll be polite and wait for the heroes to return from their _engaging_ brown nosing and photo ops. They're cordial like that.

I'm just going to keep… well, Armsmaster is our headliner, Assault and Battery are a duo, Triumph is our new triumph (damn it Glenn), Miss Militia is our go-to patriot, and Dauntless is our… Greek? He's been dubbed "a rising star", but really, that was code for him likely getting killed by an S class threat before the year was out. Well I guess I'm keeping him here. He's a Mover, so he can handle the breadth of the city. Oh wait there's also Velocity. Fuck, I already sent the email.

… No one's going to notice Velocity being gone too.

—

Being woken up in the middle of the night was a common occurrence for me. Nine times out of ten, it was bad news or horrible news. So when I received a blaring call at two in the morning followed by Console whooping out cheers, I knew something was up. Unlike everyone else though, I wasn't jumping for joy at the news.

Armsmaster, without fanfare, defeated Lung.

Lung. An actual, literal, honest-to-God dragon. The parahuman who once took down the _entire_ ENE Protectorate by himself, and then immediately conquered all of the separate Asian gangs and smushed them into one Asian Co-Prosperity Sphere. The one so powerful he hard countered the _entire_ Empire 88 with one parahuman henchman.

Bull-fucking-shit. Something was fishy, and that was enough to call Master/Stranger protocols on Armsmaster, because someone was lying.

I also called up the night shift guys and asked for context news from our anonymous ABB moles. There had to more to this story. You don't just take down the most powerful villain in the city in one stroke so quickly unless you were a goddamn protagonist.

Armsmaster was not protagonist material. He was the veteran, the guy who'd been around the block so long nothing fazed him anymore. The consummate professional. A mentor figure to the Wards. The leader of the Protectorate. He's too prominent, too well known, too established. He doesn't shake things up, he's a cornerstone of the status quo.

In one fell swoop, the status quo was changed. While there was a very high probability Lung would be broken out of prison, what with their new Tinker, but this situation just didn't happen. Hookwolf, Cricket, and such got caught and failed to go to the Birdcage, not fucking Lung!

This was it. The inciting incident has occurred. The first sign of a changing city. Dominoes were now about to fall, or have fallen, and things were going to get worse.

The fire has been lit on the powder keg that was Brockton Bay.

I shambled out of bed and got dressed. A wet towel on my face and a quick hairbrushing was all I could care to do before I left my apartment and entered the armored black PRT SUV parked outside.

"Report," I looked at the two agents, nodding at them as they weakly saluted.

"Armsmaster has reported for M/S screening as you requested, although not without complaint. He's currently at PRT headquarters. Miss Militia and Triumph are patrolling right now, ready just in case something happens," the first agent spoke.

I nodded, "Get the rest of Protectorate up and ready and have the PRT squads on standby. We'll need all hands on deck for this. Inform New Wave as well."

"What about the Wards?" the agent asked as the car started driving to base.

"We'll have them at base in the morning, but alert them nonetheless. Inform local hospitals, police departments, fire stations, and emergency response too. Any news from the ABB contacts?"

"Word of Lung's capture has already spread, but one of our guys said that the Undersiders stole from one of their casinos just before Lung rampaged. Think that has anything to do with it?"

"Unless they had a precog that knew Lung would be going down," I mused, "We believe one of their members is a Thinker, yes?"

The agent nodded, "High level, we assume, but no specifics. Watchdog analysis request has already been sent."

"Good. Hopefully this incident with Lung is enough to get us some priority for once," I grumbled. The agent passed me a can of coffee, which I drank immediately. It slowly flowed down my throat like bitter gelatin covered in dust. That was going to hurt later.

As soon as we got into the building, I asked for Armsmaster's camera footage from the fight, and I was displeased at how little there actually was.

A lot of it was grainy, with bits being cut off and static everywhere. In fact, it altogether failed before Armsmaster even fought Lung, cutting off a few minutes after he received info from console.

I massaged my temples before motioning to some of his guards. His M/S screening was finished, and he was tentatively clear. If he wasn't being controlled, we need him back on the streets before the gangs act up.

Finishing my third cup, I was escorted by troopers to the interrogation room.

—

Like every stereotypical interrogation room, it was a dark, gray rectangular room with a single metal table and two metal chairs opposing each other. There was also a one way mirror where one analyst was looking at us, judging our every movement. As long as he wasn't distracted.

The trooper closed the door behind me and I sat down opposite to Armsmaster, who was sitting neutrally, staring directly at me. Despite that, I could tell he was annoyed.

"Director, I can assure you I have not been tampered with in any way. With Lung down, there will undoubtedly be unrest, so I would like to return to the Rig to restock on supplies before heading out for another patrol," he said matter-of-factly. Based on the notification Dragon sent me, Armsmaster hadn't slept in almost forty hours. He must be getting better caffeine than me.

Fucking Tinkers. Them and their genetically enhanced yet somehow also sustainably grown coffee beans. Especially for not sharing it with the rest of us.

Pushing the thought out of my head, I replied, "I don't think your mind has been tampered with, but your equipment definitely has. It cut out before you encountered Lung."

He awkwardly shifted, "I may have… neglected maintenance in that particular aspect of my helmet."

I frowned, "You let your own wearable Tinker tech break down?"

"It was a lower priority, nonessential components. And I was," he paused for a moment, "Busy. I had a breakthrough recently with the bomb detector. I must have forgotten to do scheduled maintenance."

"I think you're lying. No, I know you're lying," I glared at him, "Just because you have a lie detector doesn't mean it protects you from lying, or being caught lying. Fess up and I'll go easy on you. Call it accidental omission of information."

A bluff. He might be lying, might not be. It could be an equipment malfunction, albeit a strangely specific one.

Armsmaster shook his head, "I am not lying. My helmet camera—"

A trooper burst through the door, "Ma'am, urgent news from Brockton General. Lung's gone into cardiac arrest. And his flesh is… necrotizing?"

I'm going to assume that's bad, "What happened?"

"Docs say his regeneration failed, was suppressed by drugs."

I glanced at Armsmaster, "What the hell kind of drugs did you pump him full of?"

"Tranquilizers," Armsmaster said. He cut me off before I could respond, "There is no way they could have stopped him completely. They were too weak. After I subdued Lung with them, I had to repeatedly dose him on the way to the hospital just to keep him sedated. Even then, his lighter wounds were already healing."

That was odd. Very odd. I turned back to the trooper, "Contact Panacea."

"She's already on her way, left her home some time after we alerted New Wave."

Hmm.

"Assuming Lung survives this, we'll have to do a full inventory," I turned to Armsmaster, "I'm afraid someone has potentially compromised your equipment," a Tinker is likely. The ABB one? "You recently developed a countermeasure to the ABB's newest Tinker. Who's to say she didn't do the same for you?"

He frowned, "It is possible. It would explain why Lung's regeneration is failing, Who else has access to him but the ABB? But my helmet cam failing doesn't fit."

I mused, "We can't review the fight, so that means we can't look back and see any discrepancies in Lung's abilities. Perhaps we are in the middle of a coup."

"The ABB's new Tinker is unstable, erratic, has problems with authority, as well as a massive ego and superiority complex. Taking out a gang leader she joined sounds like something she would do."

That did make sense. But where did that leave us? This inciting incident, does this mean that the Tinker was important, beyond just a madwoman? Her holding a college hostage because of a bad grade wouldn't win any fans, so she had to be an antagonist, an unrepentant, evil one likely.

Then again, until the bombs go off, she hasn't killed anyone we've heard of. If they do go off, her fate is sealed. She'll either be killed or sent to the Birdcage. It's in her best interest to not blow up Brockton Bay.

Unfortunately, neither I nor Armsmaster believed this could be resolved without something exploding.

Reach out to her with a person, and the messenger likely gets blown up. Call her out on television or the internet, and she'll be insulted. She won't take anything less than a face-to-face meeting.

Calling in a truce is a gamble. We just don't know what type of person this bomber was. Most villains parlay with the so-called Unwritten Rules, but they always skirted the lines, abused it, made excuses, found loopholes, pinned the blame on others. Back when New Wave was new, and so were the rules, I remembered when Fleur was killed in her own home by the Empire. Allfather placed the blame on some no-name gangers, who took the fall and were executed live on illegally broadcasted television.

And the Empire was relatively cordial. They wanted to keep their reputation as the "civilized gang", the one keeping the riffraff in line, when the Protectorate and PRT couldn't. They positioned themselves as better, all the while they ran minorities out of town, beat and killed the rest, pumped drugs into the streets, and eroded away at the foundations of democracy that this city tried to hold onto.

When the ABB killed, assaulted and kidnapped women, doled drugs in the streets, they never did that while claiming to be better. They simply were. In time, we all came to accept that.

And they were still better than the Merchants, in the end.

What did that mean? It meant the formalities were over, now that Lung was gone. Despite everything, despite being a goddamn dragon, his cape bodycount was actually pretty low. Save the dozen he killed in his first weeks in the city, he hasn't killed much in his time here. Not because he didn't want to kill, no, I wasn't that optimistic.

No, Lung liked the status quo, right where it was. He was content with it, ruling over a quarter of the bay, able to take more whenever he wanted to, because dragon. A war would have ensued, and I had half a mind to think Lung just couldn't be bothered leading a war as general, commander, and front line berserker all at once.

This new Tinker, she didn't care for the status quo. We think she tried to kill Lung. She made bombs. She held up a school.

The fuse had been lit. The powder keg was about to ignite. And I couldn't help but wonder whether Bakuda had the same metaphor in mind when she made the sparks.

Now that was a cool ending line, so I'm going to stop while I'm ahead. Back to paperwork.

I looked up at Armsmaster, "You're free to go, but I recommend getting some sleep. Dragon's worried about you."

He looked and said, "When this is over. The situation in the city is perilous now."

I shook my head, "Better to have you rested. New Wave's up and running around, at least for the next few hours. Get three hours, at the least."

Armsmaster nodded at me. As he walked to the door, he paused, "The Undersiders were there, as well as a new Independent. She's a bug controller, roughly Wards age."

"Hmm," I grunted, "I'll read your official report in four hours. Now get some sleep."

He turned to the door and left. After a minute, I left as well.

—

Well, now we had Lung in custody. Sure he almost died after someone tried to pin the blame on Armsmaster, but we still _had Lung in custody_. I'm not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Now, how to transport him to Canada? Maybe Assault has some ideas. Unless those ideas turn out to be useless. You'd think a breakout escape expert would be great at protecting prisoner transports, but you'd be wrong.

Or maybe someone somewhere can get ahold of Strider so we don't have to move a dragon across state lines. God, I can imagine the hassle getting through customs at the national border too. I am so glad that I'm chained to my desk in Brockton Bay.

Maybe we could send him by boat up to British Columbia? Get one of Dragon's ships to disguise itself as a boat. I'm sure she can do that.

Oh why do I even bother doing this song and dance every time we capture a villain? It's not going to work, Lung is going to be broken out. Despite the incredible break out to prison send ratio, the bureaucracy and red tape of the PRT would never let things change. I can't get ahold of Strider on such a short notice. I can't just hope Dragon has a goddamn Transformer hidden along somewhere. I can't get the routes changed on a whim before they're figured out.

We're stuck. The only hope was that Bakuda really did try to kill Lung and doesn't want him out. And even then, I kept up with gang politics. It was more interesting than city politics at least.

Lung had many loyal followers, and even more people that feared him within his own gang. Now that he was gone, people would vie for leadership. Bakuda would have to assert her dominance, and while she was a cape, she could still be killed by ordinary humans. Bakuda, assuming she was smart, would recognize that she either needed to blow up a bunch of people to scare them into working for her, or she needed to bring Lung back.

Why would she bring Lung back? Well it's not like he knew that Bakuda tried to kill him. We still were iffy on that. Lung didn't blow up after all. Then again, if we're assuming Bakuda is smarter than she looks, she could have purposefully switched out her modus operandi so that Lung's loyal followers wouldn't try to crucify her after news of his death got out. She probably didn't anticipate him surviving.

After all, Panacea saved Lung, despite her usually not healing villains. Bakuda, a newcomer to the city and capehood, didn't understand the nuances of the cape scene. Panacea didn't heal villains, except under Truce and in situations that would result in death. After all, New Wave wants cape accountability, and that meant receiving a fair trial, which is impossible said villain was dead.

If Bakuda really did plan this out, then there was really only one course of action: turn Lung and Bakuda against each other. If we're right and Bakuda tried to slay a dragon (no known relation to the other group of capes that claim to be dragon slayers), then we hopefully turn a citywide gang war into an ABB civil war. And Lung would then be in our debt. Having a dragon owe us a favor would be fucking kickass.

If we're wrong, then Bakuda may die, but what will they do? They can't prove we didn't set them against each other on purpose. The PRT don't do that, we're the stuck-up by-the-books glory hogs. We would never downplay our own achievements. After all, gangsters lie all the time, and Bakuda would probably say she didn't try to kill Lung either way.

Now we just need to figure out how to break the news to Lung. Bringing in a parahuman might trigger his transformation, but then, he's a prideful man, so sending in a non parahuman "lackey" to inform him would be considered an insult.

We need to send in someone who Lung would see as an equal, or someone who Lung would agree is in an equivalent position for the "spineless and useless PRT".

...

Fuck.

I'm sure this can wait a couple days, it's not like Bakuda will break him out until after the weekend.

Yep.

—

It was taking a couple days, and I was getting my affairs in order, and contemplating whether the insane plan was worth it (and now that I think about it, was it even ethical?) when my screen flashed.

The notification came up on my screen: "Brockton Central Bank being robbed by The Undersiders."

The Undersiders were mostly kids. Kids that have turned to a life of crime. Crime is predominantly due to poverty. Fuck, Hellhound is on their team. Can't have Dauntless beating down on poor orphans while a PR event was going on. Luckily we have our in-house child supersoldier program.

Time to play baseball.

—

"Aegis, your primary objective is to gather information and protect the civilians. Stopping the bank robbery is secondary."

"Ma'am?" he asked over the comms.

I had a long standing agreement with all the local bank owners. Since banks are pretty much destined to be robbed in this day and age, we've all secretly decided to collectively throw in the towel and let the insurance companies take care of it. See, banks are not that great targets to hit: we all know they get robbed, they have giant vaults that need to be cracked, and they only deal in hard currency. Why steal thousands of pieces of paper when you can steal a much smaller object worth that much? That smells like amateurs, and amateurs mean new capes. New capes to take the time to learn more about.

It sounds counter intuitive, but this operation was likely a lost cause. The Wards were well known, their powers were a matter of public record and rampant online speculation. Contrast to that, we had a murderer orphan with giant monster dogs, a human Master, a Stranger/Shaker, and two unknowns.

Not to mention the aforementioned underdogs scenario. Hell, they were the _Under_ siders and they had pet dogs. Dogs that turned into giant, powerful, dangerous monsters yes, but that just made the metaphor more compelling. They even have a brand new member (that bug cape Armsmaster mentioned), which means at this point I'm wondering if I'm hallucinating from how spot on this metaphor was becoming. Next thing we know they'll have actual baseball bats.

That reminds me, "Do you see what weapons they have?"

"No ma'am, it's pitch black in there. Do we have the go ahead?"

"Yes. You'll be taking point on this. Dauntless will be nearby, but will only intervene if he sees more volatile capes approach. Remember, this is recon and protection."

"Yes ma'am. Aegis out."

Good. Now to sit back and drink my coffee into submission.

"Ma'am? Glory Girl's arrived."

I frowned, "She's here to help?"

"Yes. Gallant just spoke to her. She says that Panacea is one of the hostages."

That was… extremely contrived. Now I'm no stranger to bullshit luck, but this was taking the cake. Every known teenaged cape in the city except Shadow Stalker, Shielder, and Rune were now in one location. The Wards were a response to the Undersiders, so that really left New Wave to wonder.

Unless the Undersiders were robbing the bank to get Panacea specifically. Except that was incredibly unlikely. This whole venture was well planned, coinciding with the Protectorate PR event. Not to mention them having to figure out exactly when and where Panacea would be. And even then, it would have been easier to just kidnap her outside of the bank.

No, the Undersiders did not plan this. That left three options: coincidence, New Wave plot, or unknown third party plot. The latter is tempting, but that runs into the same problem with the Undersiders theory. So unless there was a Thinker out there with bullshit precog that could actually plan this malarkey, I'll shelve this idea for later. It could be the case, depending on how this whole situation plays out.

The whole thing being a coincidence is appealing, but I did not become Director of the PRT ENE by being anything less than mildly paranoid. I searched up the files we had on Panacea, and right at the top were the words that got the gears in my head spinning.

Striker 9 (Sub Thinker 4).

A sub Thinker… Yes, she obtains full knowledge of the biological state of a person just by touching them. I always had my doubts, after all, Rule 1 of being a human among parahumans was that powers were bullshit. Mostly Tinkers, followed by teleporters, then Thinkers. But all powers have some core level of "Fuck that makes no goddamn sense and is also cheating" to them.

So a Thinker walks into a bank filled with more parahumans per square foot in the city than anywhere else at almost any other time. A place completely covered in paranormal darkness. A darkness that, according to several witness testimonies, numbed the sensation of touch.

Reconnaissance. That's what Panacea is doing at the bank. I mean, fuck, what is a minor even doing there? It's not like she makes money off of healing. Withdrawing cash can be done at any ATM, with less lines too. But how did she know to be there?

Glory Girl, my mind thought. No, it was crazy. Just because she shared one feature in common with the Simurgh, didn't mean that she also had precognition. But then again, she didn't have to obtain information that way.

She never came in for power testing, so we had no clue as to the exact limits of her aura. Or perhaps the information came from Panacea. After all, "completely learn all knowledge about a person's body just by touching" is vague and utterly terrifying. Could she read minds with a touch? Or perhaps, threaten death with her fingertips. Rule 2 of being a human among parahumans was that all powers, no matter how insignificant or niche, could be turned into a deadly weapon. No exceptions.

After all, if Panacea's powers were to only heal, why would she have a secondary power that gave her info to the body if she only went one way? Yes, she could heal selectively, but that sounded like flimsy justification to me.

Suppose New Wave was behind this, hypothetically. They send in Panacea, followed by Glory Girl. The former scouts while the latter keeps watch, and potentially aids in acquiring parahumans to touch. Whose idea was this? Certainly, it was neither Brandish nor Lady Photon. Those two wouldn't know subterfuge if it punched them in the throat.

Unless that was a ruse. Because Rule 3 of being a human among parahumans was that all capes lie their asses off. And when not lying, they prefer to stay silent and brood. Fucking Armsmaster has a balcony on the Rig for that very reason.

Even the children of New Wave, raised their whole lives in the public spotlight, have to have skeletons in their closets.

At one point in my life, I had pegged Panacea and Glory Girl as an archetypical duo-of-opposites, contenders for the ideal of protagonists. Adopted sisters with different looks, personalities, and powers. Perhaps their sisterly relationship would be a stark contrast or mirror of their mother and aunt's relationship.

Perhaps they still are. Villain protagonists are all the rage these days, gone is the age of heroes, time for some brooding. If the current climate of the entire world was any indication, especially compared to Aleph, a straight up hero main character seems unlikely.

An independent hero group seems like a good compare-and-contrast to the Protectorate, one with a secret goal hidden from the rest of the world. Villains-that-are-secretly-good-guys and Heroes-that-are-secretly-nefarious-assholes are a definite real possibility. Of course, that's my own bias talking.

I tapped my fingers on my desk. I'll have to wait and see.

I glanced back at the video feed. Nothing but darkness. I checked the radio feeds. Nothing. Right, darkness generation superpower. Well, I suppose I'll leave it to Dauntless and Aegis. It's a foregone conclusion anyways.

There was work to be done: files to read, forms to fill, orders to give, meetings to arrange and attend, and things to sign. I'll have to start with the last one. Apparently Director or Deputy Director approval is needed to sign off on changes to the cafeteria menu, which is bullshit.

And Renick was off arranging Birdcage transport for Lung. I feel like the roles should be reversed, but he was itching for more responsibility, and who was I to say no? Every time I arrange a transport the Empire broke their capes out, so I must've been doing something wrong. Either that or transporting supervillains across state and national borders by car was inherently difficult.

I was halfway through the first stack when my cell phone rang. I picked up. Because ignoring a phone call in the cape business could get someone killed.

"Hello?" It was a young girl's voice. Not the weirdest call I've gotten this month, "I need help."

"Hello dear, my name is Emily Piggot of the PRT. Is your mother or father nearby so I can talk to them?"

"Not nearby. 'Sides, they won't listen. 96.55% chance they won't listen."

I frowned, "Won't listen? Dear, what's your name, and what's going on? Are in danger?"

"I'm Dinah. Dinah Alcott. And I think someone is trying to kidnap me."

That name sounded familiar, "Dinah, is there someone in your family that's famous? Someone I might have heard of before?"

"My uncle's the mayor."

Ah. I began typing an emergency message, "Why do you think someone's trying to kidnap you?"

"I have powers."

Fucking. Called. It.

"Okay Dinah, I'm going to be sending over someone to help," luckily, the automatic call trace had finished working.

Who should I send? Police? No, kidnappers were heavy business in Brockton Bay. PRT? Perhaps, oh hey Velocity is nearby. He loves kids. I think. I rang him up.

"Director?"

"I'm sending you a location. There is a young girl in danger of kidnapping. She claims to be a Parahuman, which I'm inclined to agree with since she got ahold of my personal cell. Probable multiple armed hostiles, just two blocks away," Well, I actually gave out my number to Triumph's family a while back, but same diff.

"I'm on it," he hung up. Rude.

I went back to Dinah, "Are you still there?"

"Y-yeah."

"Good, Velocity is on his way there, so hang tight."

"Who's that?" Dinah asked. Yeah that figured.

He's one of the city's heroes. Don't worry, he'll keep you safe. I'm turning you over to someone who can keep talking to you, okay?" I turned the call over to console with a brief message explaining the situation. Afterwards I leaned back in my chair, and pulled out a bottle of wine as Velocity confirmed pick up.

Thinking on it, only a few members of the PRT knew about the PR event. And the Protectorate of course, as well as the Wards. Those capes were suddenly busy, so they had to make room in their schedule. That would mean telling everyone they're busy.

The mayor knew, because of Triumph. The Wards probably told their parents and family. Maybe mentioned something vague to their friends, keep a lid on things. Well, any that were in on the secret would have just been told the truth. Like Gallant's girlfriend Vict—

I jolted out of my seat. Holy fuck.

"New Wave just tried to kidnap the mayor's niece."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to my fanfic! This is a very slight AU idea I had. Essentially "what if Piggot wasn't so genre blind?" and also a bit more self aware, what amount of good could the local director do as a result? What unintentional bad could butterfly in? What sort of hilarity do we get from situations and from the narration of an asshole bureaucrat? This is that answer.
> 
> Special thanks to GauchePear23 for helping with the story title, and Slenderbrine/JustaSnell for introducing me to Worm fics all those months. If anything, this is all his fault.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

—

The worst part of having sixty hour a week job (not including emergencies, events, and Sunday "prep" time), was that I had to wait over twelve hours before I could act on my epiphany. Now, if I had actual non-circumstantial evidence, I could have dropped everything right there, but alas, the PRT and Protectorate were busy, scrambling still to cover our metaphorical asses and the literal asses of the entire city.

I never really trusted New Wave, not when my very first interaction with them, just a few days into this godforsaken job, was after they'd broken into a man's home and took their kid. Yes, the man was a supervillain, but how in the hell did they find that out? Why did they take the kid?

I was new, fresh off the bus (I had to carry my dialysis machine with me on that bus, PRT wouldn't even spring for a taxi. In hindsight, that should have been my first warning), and trying to put out eighteen different fires that first week. When someone hands you a supervillain, you should definitely ask questions. I, in my naivety, did not ask the right ones, until it was far too late.

Time passed, things calmed down, one of New Wave's members was killed and their cape nudist movement died out with a whimper. It made sense now, that they were looking back at the golden years, wishing to recapture the glory. But I didn't have time to investigate, I have bigger fish to fry.

A New Wave conspiracy just wasn't on the same level of urgency as the ongoing bomb threat, potential gang war, sudden bank robbery fallout, and Armsmaster looking out for saboteurs. Yes there was an attempted child abduction, but said child was safe and sound, sleeping off the excitement and terror as her parents became VIPs, the full package whenever we had a prospective Ward.

They had the Premium bunk beds, which, according to Agent Cole, Dinah was very much enthusiastic about.

Now it was morning, and after the crime scene was analyzed, the Wards writing down reports, and reporting said reports to their boss, Miss Militia, they would come in today to give the report to their boss' boss, me. We normally would have done it all together at once, but I had to make some calls. It was going to be a busy day, so many meetings, so little time. It was going to be exhausting, and it was probably best to get the worst one out of the way.

No, not Lung.

I stared at that damn snake, Calvert, from across my desk. And I mean that literally. It's extremely obvious he's Coil. Just look at that sinister look on him, not to mention the way he acts at all times, but noooo the bullshit Unwritten Rules and actually written down privacy laws mean I can't do an obvious MRI scan because that's poor manners and an invasion of privacy.

How do I know exactly? Besides his demeanor, the obvious chuckling whenever he makes what I can only assume to be a stupid villain in-joke, and the fact that he once did some incredibly shitty thing to survive while undergoing immense psychological trauma, no shit. He's not a henchman, he's too smug to be Lung's goon. He's not Empire (unless he was that good, but come on let's be real, he isn't), him being a mercenary or a Merchant is unlikely, so that just leaves Coil. Aka the one local supervillain we know nothing about and slips through our cracks like he knew what we were thinking.

He knows that I know, because of course he does, he's a Thinker (probably), so at this point we don't even bother with the charade when we're alone.

Calvert shook my hand and sat down, "Miss Piggy."

"Doctor No."

"You've used that one before."

"At least I try to come up with new names. You got that from Clockblocker."

My name is Piggot and I'm overweight because of course I am. Twenty years of diet and exercise only to have my kidneys forcibly removed due to cruel irony. And a parahuman whose power was stealing kidneys. So many bacon burgers I've skipped on.

At this point I'm tempted to get in on the joke, thus making it uncool. I would make obnoxious pig jokes and get pig ears for a cheap Halloween costume. It would only take a week. But alas, doing so would almost surely send me into the M/S tank.

I also want to avoid becoming a meme, because something like that would definitely be leaked. It would also be a very annoying conversation to have with my therapist in the aftermath.

"Indeed I did, since I actually don't care enough to come up with new insults. Now, will you please tell me why you called me into your office after that riveting screening and confiscation of everything?"

I steepled my fingers and glared at him, "The mayor's niece was almost kidnapped yesterday, and I have suspicions that New Wave was behind it."

"... Oh. Well."

—

Timeline B

"Holy crap wait what? You think— That New Wave— What?"

—

Timeline A

Calvert cleared his throat, "That is a very serious allegation to make, Emily."

Damn it. One day I'll get him to react.

"I am afraid I'm not being humorous."

It was of course, an insane thought. But that was the world we were living in. Capes had made the world mad, and it was, unfortunately, the PRT's job to curb that. As much as possible.

That was why I was here, making a deal with the devil. Or rather, killing two devils with one stone. Yes, that metaphor made sense, shut up.

I looked him straight in the eye, "I want you to get with your contacts in the underworld—mercenaries, underlings, maybe one of those villain truce meetings I keep hearing about."

Literally. Bugging a known villain hangout slash truce grounds was much easier than I thought it would be. Especially with one of the best Tinkers in America making tiny bugs. It's a shame all the evildoers in the Bay were immensely vague and didn't monologue to each other.

"Get in touch, find out if they heard whispers of hiring or weird payoffs, blackmail or something like that. Whoever attempted to kidnap Dinah Alcott did so with hired goons, not parahumans."

Calvert was staring at me impassively, drinking in my words, probably running them through his bullshit Thinker power. I'm going to guess Adam West Batman deduction. Makes it more bearable to look at him.

"I still don't see how New Wave is involved. Or why you're telling me," he said.

It's hard to tell whether he was actually involved or not, because no matter what I say about him, I have to admit he has a great poker face. While I have no doubts he would kidnap a child, the question was whether or not he was involved in the kidnapping of this particular child.

"New Wave's two most active members were involved in yesterday's bank robbery. One that just happened to include every known teenaged cape in the city except Shadow Stalker and Rune, while all of the Protectorate were out of town, save for a couple hanger ons. The only people who knew were the PRT, Protectorate, and New Wave by proxy."

A mole in the PRT was also possible, therefore Coil. Normally, the protocol for dealing with Thinkers was to not talk or listen to them, but in this case, I am the one trying to interrogate him, and any information I'm giving him is something he could work out himself without any powers. If I'm right, then I can maybe get a supervillain to help me take down other supervillains. If I'm wrong, then I'm throwing Coil off my scent.

Technically speaking, this is giving him false information.

"That's circumstantial at best. Paranoia is unbecoming of you," I could feel his aura of smugness on me. Then he raised an eyebrow at me. The nerve! "And are you really sure you want to alienate the independent Hero team that provides free supernatural healing every time Armsmaster loses his arm?"

"They do save us a lot on medical expenses, yes, but at what cost?" I frowned. That pun was not meant to exist, "Do we overlook any sketchy business they may be performing just because they're good PR? Marginally improving the status quo?"

"Sure," he threw his hands up in defeat and sighed. Ha, "Let's pretend New Wave are secretly supervillains pretending to be heroes, lying in wait. What would they hope to accomplish from kidnapping a little girl?"

"Expanding their group, building up a repertoire of powers. A psychic is monumentally useful."

"And where would they keep this girl? Their basement?"

So he has a basement. That helps narrow absolutely nothing down.

"Their lair. All capes have one, Hero or Villain. That's why the Wards are kept on the bottom floor, and why the Protectorate has an oil rig covered in a forcefield," I rolled my eyes, "Come on, you should know this. I bet yours has a swimming pool."

"I will neither deny nor confirm that," he adjusted his tie. That was probably a yes.

"They probably would have adopted her, like they did with Panacea."

He gave me a look. I pressed on, "You and I both know Panacea is Marquis' biological daughter. I know you've seen the adoption papers."

He's probably hacked the database at some point.

Calvert kept up his frown, "Rescuing a child from a supervillain is different from kidnapping from a normal family, Emily."

You would know, wouldn't you, Calvert? But this conversation is getting nowhere. The chance of Coil being involved in this kidnapping was a resounding "Maybe". As usual. Fucking smug snake slithering out with no evidence.

"The parallels are there," I waved my hand, "And who knows what goes on behind closed doors. New Wave and Alcotts alike."

"Scandalous, truly," he said blandly, "And here I thought you didn't care about such gossip."

"When it involves trigger events and parahumans, it becomes more than just gossip," I said, "Even if you don't believe me, keep your ears open anyways."

"And what's in it for me? After all, this is, hypothetically, important information I'm just handing you, calling in hypothetical favors and all."

Ah, here we are, the second point of this meeting. I smirked and pushed a manila folder towards him, "Go on."

Calvert reached for the folder and opened it. His eyes widened as he saw the first page before he looked up and glared at me, "Have I ever told you how much I hated you?"

"Now that's rude. You of all people should understand what it's like to be given a second chance."

"Yes, because hiring an ex-Nazi is a great idea. I will eat my own suit if this isn't some convoluted Empire scheme to infiltrate the Protectorate's ranks."

His business suit designed to hide his figure or his cape costume suit?

"Exactly. Which is why I am recommending you to be her case worker."

His mouth gaped open. It closed, then opened again. No sound came out.

"After all, Deputy Director Renick is busy, Armsmaster isn't sociable enough to reform a villain, I have no time, Miss Militia and the other Protectorate capes are kind of iffy," well, that was my excuse at least.

Not that I didn't have concerns. Assault is a former villain himself, and while that can work wonders, nazism is not the same type of villainy as breakout artist in protest-of-the-basically-death-penalty slash for profit. Their life experiences just aren't compatible. And there is a high chance that outside of her Breaker form, Purity is cute, and I don't want to accidentally start some inane love triangle with them and Battery.

Speaking of Battery, I don't trust her, full stop. She's too… well adjusted. It sounds completely insane, but it makes sense, believe me. As far as anyone can tell, she has no trauma, no emotional vulnerabilities that consume her entire personality, motivations, worldview, and priorities. You know, trigger events. Because when a normal person has a shitty time, they either die or live long enough until the next shitty time. But when a would-be cape has a shitty time, they get superpowers as a consolation prize. To them, that shitty time was special, important, something life changing, a turning point in their life.

Rule 4 of being a human among parahumans was that all capes have deep seated traumatic experiences that shape their very character, personality, motivations, and worldview. Battery on the other hand, is the picture of mental health, and that's weird. And that just makes me suspicious of her. Because fear not the raving lunatic, fear the devious sociopath. One is an obvious threat, the other is a danger that people won't notice until it's too late. Yeah, I'm never giving her responsibility.

Triumph is too new, Velocity can't stop Purity on the off chance she goes on a violent racist rampage. Dauntless is actually a good choice, but I'm holding off on him for now. Armsmaster has been acting odd involving him, and I'd rather sort out whatever issues the two have before getting one of them to recruit a supervillain.

Oh, and Miss Militia is just plain weird. Not weird in the same way as Battery, but weird in the "way too eager and happy" way. I'm not sure if I should be suspicious of her, or just continue being weirded out. She's competent and reliable, and a good sounding board when doing amateur investigation, but still weird. Must be because she's the closest thing we have to a Sherlock on staff.

Calvert replied, "You just want to throw me under the bus if this goes south. Which it will."

Oh wow, I spaced out for a while there, "I think she's genuine. Or she thinks she's genuine. Not in the Master sort of way, more in that she's still very racist. And that's why you'll be the perfect test."

"Because I'm black."

"That is correct."

"You just want me vaporized."

"Working for or with the PRT is not without risk."

You'd think after Nilbog he'd have figured that out by now.

… I suppose I would be a hypocrite if I didn't listen to my own advice.

—

I had some time before my second meeting to ruminate. The Undersiders were new and gaining members fast. All within the plucky teenage years too. Getting half a dozen unrelated teens with superpowers under one group was a complicated effort. Even the Empire 88 only had Rune, because despite how it may seem, the teenage years were only a small fraction of one's life.

The fact that the Undersiders were all roughly the same age meant two possibilities: someone, probably an adult, gathered them together for a purpose. Or they all knew each other in their civilian identities and just decided to be capes together.

I wasn't really sure what was the point of having a bunch of annoying and dangerous teens working together, I've found it to be more trouble than they're worth. Especially to what, commit robberies? Sounds like a waste of superpowers to me. Which was exactly what most parahumans thought like, especially teenaged parahumans.

So it was the latter option. They probably knew each other beforehand and just happened to get powers. Hellhound was likely the rough-and-tumble orphan that the original main subgroup found (between two and three "core" members) that sparked their initial meeting, slowly drawing in more capes to fill out their roster. Their new fifth member, bug girl, meant that they were a classic five man band.

Let's see: Grue, Regent, Tattletale, Hellhound, and bug girl. Hmm, she's new, and we'll have to come up with a name for her. A temporary one, and I'll try to hold off on it as much as possible. Because there was something to be gained from waiting for your enemies to name themselves.

An insight into their psychology, and with it, an insight into their civilian identities. Take too long with coming up with one shows indecisiveness in everyday life, being a doormat for the world until they can't take it anymore and go nuclear. Just going along with whatever PHO decides shows seeking validation, or indecisiveness as well.

An actually chosen name implies much more about them (besides the fact that all the good ones have been taken by now), it reveals how they see themselves. Kaiser wants to be the ruler of a bygone era, an empire where his word is law. Lung is a dragon and wants to do dragon things, like hoarding gold in the form of drugs, prostitutes, and territory. They don't actually do much fighting, just like fantasy dragons.

Assuming that the three Undersiders besides Hellhound chose their names (I set a desktop reminder to investigate if Hellhound had chosen a name for herself), I can see a crack, a peer into the twisted psyche of these broken teenagers.

Grue, according to Merriam Webster, means to shiver in either cold or fear. Clearly, he wants to be feared. Unless he has an unknown ice power we haven't seen yet, may have to check up on that. So despite his name sounding like some grumpy bald bureaucrat, he wants to evoke fear. He's probably like a 4 out of 10 on the "actually scary" scale.

Regent means "someone in charge because the monarch is either too young or unable to rule". So a Master, a human Master that doesn't see herself as the rightful ruler, only taking temporary control for the time being until the rightful ruler can take back their throne. I sense self esteem issues there, possibly a heart of gold villain, only doing evil because of life circumstances, maybe deferring to an actual monarch? Going to file her for possible Wards recruitment contingent on figuring out what authority figure she's had in her life.

Tattletale. Not Whistleblower, but Tattletale. Someone, especially a child, that tells the secrets of others. Considering all of the synonyms also have negative connotations, this was either done on purpose, to feed into the idea of "villain", or a deeper meaning. Wait, a synonym of tattletale is squealer.

… They do have the same hair color.

It's probably a coincidence, but I won't dismiss it. Of course, if Tattletale went by Whistleblower, that would mean her goal would be rooting out corruption in the government or corporations. That would have unfortunately made her the PRT's direct enemy, even if only by connotation. Not that I'm advocating for corruption or anything.

It's only corruption if it's done by other people.

On the other hand, it is also a known fact that when someone chooses a name, there is a low possibility of it being a goddamn pun.

If your cape name was the Mad Mare, there was a non zero chance your actual name was Madison or Madeline. Capes were idiots and smug assholes like that. Clockblocker would have been Dennis the Menace if he had less survival instinct.

Anyways, back on point: five man band. The Undersiders were clearly the heroes of their own story. Which meant that one of them was a "protagonist". Or they were an ensemble cast, still up in the air on that. Unless they actually have more members and we still haven't seen all of them yet. At this point, I wouldn't be surprised, if they kept gaining capes, they'll be a major power in no time.

Best case scenario, the Undersiders fight the other gangs first, then New Wave, then us. Hopefully they don't go recruiting any time soon.

… Shit Purity is still shopping for a team. She's much older, but every team needs a Team Mom. That's why Miss Militia is around after all. I even made it official back in September, around the same time Shadow Stalker joined. After all, she didn't need to sleep, so that was five more hours of time to work. It was definitely not an excuse to foist off working with children on someone else.

Delegation. That's the word I put in the report. I delegated the task to Miss Militia. I also hate children, so I can't possibly be an objective commander to them. Except Dinah. And Vista. I suppose Shadow Stalker and Clockblocker aren't too bad either.

Now then, bug girl. She matches the description Armsmaster made about the cape he encountered fighting Lung. The blood work from Lung did indicate high amounts of venoms from many different insect species, so that correlates with everything. It seems that Lung fought the Undersiders and their new recruit before Armsmaster subdued him.

Bug girl pretending to be a new independent hero to Armsmaster is believable, since his lie detector was not infallible (otherwise I would have Calvert in prison now, wouldn't I?) and secondary powers were a constant battle of "But actually I counter your counter!" so of course it failed when it actually counted.

Or bug girl was intelligent enough to give half truths and "technically true… from a certain point of view", which was even more likely. If Dragon can pull that off every time she talks to Armsmaster, then a random teen can too.

That sounds backwards, but trust me when I say it isn't.

Hmm. The Undersiders are protagonists, teens on the rough side of the tracks trying to make do in a parahuman world, while Armsmaster is one of the most famous heroic Tinkers in North America.

Him taking the full credit to taking down Lung would be a great boon to the Protectorate's image. But it could come with great risk. If this information got out, Armsmaster's career would be tarnished, and with it, the PRT and Protectorate's own reputation. Stealing credit for a collaboration is hardly a heroic action, even if it wasn't a collaboration on purpose. And I know at least one villain will get their hands on this info, probably Calvert and his power doing shitty mind tricks.

However, if we tell the public, that would put a huge target on the Undersiders, with the ABB coming out in full force to fight them. They may be parahuman villains, but they're also just kids. It's for their own safety to not put the spotlight on them. But then, teens don't know what's best for them. They'd want the glory, wouldn't they? If we didn't acknowledge them, deep down they would feel we snubbed them. Stole from them even, and thieves know stealing. Ah yes, I can just feel the irony in that.

We would have to find a way to tell the Undersiders we're giving them credit where credit is due, while also not seeming like we're throwing them to the sharks. Lung may be captured, but the ABB also have Oni Lee and Bakuda.

Maybe have Armsmaster talk to them? No, that could go wrong. He's not very tactful. Miss Militia? She's worked with teens. Then again, she might weird them out. Yes, I'll send both at once to get into contact with them. They'll bounce off each other, their flaws complementing each other rather than rubbing off the wrong way, hopefully. I'm sure they can also figure out how to contact the Undersiders.

—

The clock struck eight, and all of the Wards filed into the room, along with Miss Militia and Armsmaster. They circled my desk and stood up, ramrod straight as they knew they failed. Except Shadow Stalker, she was pouting for missing yesterday's action. Can't blame her, I too miss the days screaming at the top of my lungs as dangerous capes tried to kill me.

That was sarcasm, by the way.

Aegis handed me a stack of annotated notes along with each Ward's individual report. I placed the files down and stared at him. As his boss' boss, I did not need to read his work. Instead I can have him tell me.

"Summarize this. What do we know about the Undersiders?"

"Yesterday, they hit the Brockton Bay Central Bank. The took everyone inside hostage, including Panacea of New Wave, and proceeded to break into the safe. Due to the recent publicity event, all of the Protectorate save for Dauntless and Velocity were out of town. Dauntless was too far away, even with his flight, to intercept in time. He was able to guide us over comms however. Velocity was responding to a kidnapping attempt."

I nodded and steepled my fingers, "Go on."

"We arrived, and well, failed miserably. They beat us badly. It wasn't terrifying for us, but Glory Girl and Panacea had a rough time, from what Victoria informed us after."

I waved my hand, "The bank was a lost cause the moment you arrived. Their insurance will pay for the damages. What I'm concerned about is the Undersiders themselves."

Aegis stiffened, "Yes ma'am. We've confirmed Grue's power, and determined that it blocked sense of sight, hearing, and touch. It jammed radio communications too, and we think he can see through it."

He continued, "The Undersiders have a new cape, a bug controller, one we've designated temporarily as 'Skitter'. She threatened to use her black widow venom on the hostages if they moved. Afterwards though, the only ones stung were Panacea and Glory Girl, and not with black widows. Although," he vaguely gestured to his teammates, "Clockblocker and Gallant got bugs in their costumes and they almost got to the point of suffocating."

Clockblocker himself shuddered. I said nothing, but continued to stare. Cruel perhaps, but how else could you use bug control offensively? Venom was probably worse.

Gallant spoke up, "Tattletale is definitely confirmed Thinker, and a powerful one. She had one conversation with Panacea and Glory Girl before things got awkward."

Now that was interesting, "What are the specifics of this power?"

"As Victoria put it, she was 'mouthing off and airing everyone's personal business'."

"Any other clues?" I asked.

"Oh uh," Clockblocker added, "She knew that me and Aegis switched costumes, one of the hostages mentioned her spouting out factoids, and there was this whole spiel and story from what Vicky said."

"A story," I wagered.

"Yeah. Full of details that were uncomfortable, and all about Amy and Victoria's home life. And then she explained in detail how to get around Victoria's force field after explaining how it works in the first place."

Well damn. I looked into the pile of papers and testimonies, then back up at the Wards.

Tattletale had the power of Exposition.

"I'm assigning her a provisional rating of Thinker 6," I glanced through the notes. Used a simple handgun to get around Alexandria Junior, "Subject to increases and possible sub ratings should she show a propensity for figuring out power weaknesses. As for Skitter, name temporary, provisional rating of Master 5, Thinker 2 or 3, if these reports of her hearing are to be understood. Possibly higher as she no doubt learns to exploit her power."

The Wards shuddered, and Shadow Stalker snorted.

Drafting up specific guidelines on how to effectively combat their powers would have to come later, after reading through their reports in detail, and conversations with Watchdog and other analysts.

Aegis continued after Vista smacked Shadow Stalker, "They all got away after making off with thousands of dollars in cash."

"Forty thousand," I added, "While high by most standards, for five capes to split, it's pennies," I motioned to Armsmaster, who nodded.

"At the same time the Undersiders were robbing the bank, armed men approached and attempted to apprehend Dinah Alcott, the mayor's niece. Considering yesterday was also an important public relations event that most of the Protectorate had to attend, we believe that the bank heist was a distraction for the kidnapping. We have a short list of suspects."

New Wave. Maybe an outside group, but that was a stretch. Well, the matter was not for the ears of children. A few of them, like Gallant and Vista, were on edge. They knew Triumph's family.

"In any case, we're dealing with it. All of the mayor's family is safe and accounted for, Triumph included. We still need to deal with next time."

Clockblocker raised his hand, "Next time?"

"Of course. Someone arranged this whole debacle, and it might as well be time for some spring cleaning as well. It's no secret the PRT has moles, any organization that makes enemies with half of all the Strangers and Thinkers in the world would have them," I said, calming them down further by explaining the futility of it all. Sisyphus is great reading material.

"We've already begun our staff review," And we'll find nothing. Maybe a couple red herrings or sloppy spies, but none of the deeply entrenched ones. But once I get approval from on high to use an improved version of Armsmaster's lie detector, it'll be open season. Soon, Calvert, soon.

"The Protectorate has already made logs of all their recent communications of their work, and it's time for you to do the same. It's a bit more paperwork, but for once, it's going to be useful."

Shadow Stalker began guffawing at that, before Vista kicked her.

"While you failed horribly, that should mean some sort of punishment."

All of the Wards froze at that. I gave them a slightly sadistic smile, because if they hate me more, they'll be more inclined to work with Miss Militia. Good cop bad cop.

"Extra team training for the next two weeks. In between that, drills with Armsmaster, Dauntless, and Miss Militia on tactics. In addition, to make sure the insurance companies don't think you all got off scot free, you'll all be painting the PRT building next week."

They began protesting, Shadow Stalker in particular, "What the hell! I wasn't even there to screw up!"

"Obviously Stalker, you'll be in charge of coordinating your teammates, not doing the actual work," she was still miffed, but also a bit happy to be in charge, "Just call it team bonding."

The Youth Guard would call this child labor. But with team bonding and coordination exercises, the sky was the limit.

Also, "Gallant, you're on console duty for the next month. That should be incentive enough to spend time convincing your girlfriend not to break through the ceiling and cause thousands of dollars in property damage. You can get off early once Carol Dallon sends me the essay Glory Girl has written concerning excessive property damage."

Brandish didn't want her daughter to break things, I didn't want insurance companies complaining to me about the buildings Glory Girl has destroyed. A winning alliance. Eventually.

"You're all dismissed, except for Vista and Clockblocker."

The two kids looked at me awkwardly after everyone else filed out of the room.

"How is our public perception on PHO?" I asked calmly.

Clockblocker coughed. Ever since he named himself, I've had him basically interning with PR to avoid another fiasco. Vista was just here because she was bored and doing PR stuff from the comfort of her laptop was much more bearable than going out and being the team mascot. She fought tooth and nail to get the position, and held it for almost two years straight. Better than getting a preteen to fight evil.

"They're kinda laughing at us. Also a lot of speculation and vague anger at the Undersiders, especially with the whole 'black widow' thing," Clockblocker said as he shivered. He's definitely an entomophobe now.

Vista added in, "Not a lot, since they took everyone's phones away in the bank, so there isn't any video."

I nodded, "We'll have to work on that. PR is going to need your whole team's cooperation to get you out of this mess. What are they saying about New Wave?"

"Not much," Clockblocker said, "Most only know they were there, not any of the specifics."

"Well, they did see Panacea outside healing everyone afterwards," Vista pointed out.

"Hopefully nothing further is released to sully your already tipping reputations. Luckily, you're all young, you have some time to make up before becoming Protectorate."

They both nodded.

"I expect to hear of a report sent to Mr. Chambers from both of you. Dismissed."

They sulked at the news of more paperwork. It was hard being the tough drill master, but it was what it was.

—

After those two left, I had an hour to read up on new activity reports that came in last night. I also had time to sign off on new requests and begin writing my own weekly report to the Chief Director. It had been eventful, and Costa-Brown liked snappy, short reports.

It was now a reasonable time of day to wake up for those who didn't work for a paramilitary organization, so it was time to meet the Alcotts. The parents had been quite anxious since they heard the news, and I felt it was prudent to bring along their one relative who knew what was going on.

Not that Triumph had told them yet. Capes were always antsy about revealing their true names. It's like they're wizards or something.

So when the clock struck ten, Dinah Alcott and her parents entered my office and sat down. Her parents were on opposite sides of her, looking despondent and dour. Personally, I didn't care for that attitude. Nothing bad actually happened, and Dinah was looking not-traumatized by it.

The girl was lightly bouncing up and down in her seat, an eager smile on her face as her thumbs twiddled around, wrapped in her mother's hands. The father himself was fidgeting with his styrofoam cup half full of coffee. I should thank my secretary later on. I made a note of it.

Soon, Miss Militia walked in, followed by Triumph and Velocity. They nodded their heads in respect since saluting in an almost empty room was awkward. I then spoke to the Alcotts, "So, your daughter is a parahuman. Because of that, she was almost kidnapped yesterday, but thanks to Velocity, she's fine. We're currently working with informants and the police to track down the perpetrators. Unfortunately, we have little evidence to go on, so they are still very much a threat for you in this city."

Mrs. Alcott tensed. She asked, "So what should we do?" she glanced at the capes to her side.

"I see three options. Dinah becomes a Ward here in the bay, she becomes a Ward out in another city, or she joins Watchdog, the PRT's think tank made of top analysts and Thinkers. Watchdog is located in San Francisco, but it does have offices scattered across the country."

"She'll have to fight?" her father spoke.

"No," I replied, "She's young, and her power is very much suited for a support role. That's why I recommended Watchdog, their members rarely, if ever, go out and do field work."

The parents looked at each other, "Can we just move and keep things quiet? Just have Dinah homeschooled?"

My fingers steepled once again and I took in a breath, "Mr. and Mrs. Alcott. Your daughter is a parahuman. Parahumans have to use their powers, otherwise they go stir crazy. Not only that, but she's a prized parahuman with a powerful ability."

"Really? Her ability is that good?" Mrs. Alcott's face was just full of disbelief. It made sense. When you think of a 'powerful parahuman', you think of the Triumvirate or Scion, Lung or Kaiser, not the little squirt sitting down whose feet didn't even touch the ground.

"Your daughter," I started. How do I want to put this? I have to explain this as bluntly as possible, get them to see the gravity of the situation. Because if their testimonial is correct, they have been severely underestimating her powers. Which for a normal human, is a death sentence, "Can see the goddamn future. Not only can she see the future, she can see it with such accuracy and precision that she makes most of Watchdog look like chumps."

"Yesterday, a bank was robbed," I think keeping out the connection for now was better. Too much information at once is distressing, "And the robbers' Thinker was able to temporarily disable a seemingly invulnerable hero with a normal pistol. Because of that, we gave her a threat rating of 6 based on the information we have. We gave her that threat rating because of the powerful enemies she could fight."

I gave a loud sigh, "If we put Dinah through power testing, I have no doubts she'd be classified as Thinker 8 at the minimum. In terms of scale, she would be one of the most influential parahumans given a few years. If she were a villain, we'd be considering sending in full teams, maybe even the Triumvirate," not exactly that, since there was a lot of nuance in power interactions and whatnot, but nuance is after the gist.

"That high?" her father uttered. He finally got it.

"Seeing the future is no joke. Seeing the future without it being some vague psychic bullshit is so unbelievably rare, it's a wonder she hasn't been kidnapped before."

And then their skin paled.

"Our daughter…"

"Considering she went through a trigger event, I do have to wonder what happened at home."

"How dare you!" Mr. Alcott stood up, spilling his coffee onto my carpet. Ah well, it was due for a cleaning anyways, "What do you think you're implying?"

I sighed again, "Parents can miss things. It happens, through no fault of your own. You're ill equipped, which is why the PRT exists. I do wonder how the criminals even found your daughter. We'll have to investigate your communications, see if there's anything up."

"Director!" I turned to see Triumph has finally spoken up.

I waved him off, "We will have to investigate communications anyways. I was just informing the Alcotts of the PRT's duty to investigate parahuman crime. No need to get so worked up."

He glared at me through his helmet. Velocity patted him on the back. That was the cue for Miss Militia to speak up, "Hello Mr. and Mrs. Alcott. I'm the supervisor for the Wards here in Brockton Bay. I'm here to talk to you about that option, with Triumph here as an example, and possible… incentive."

"Incentive?" Mr. Alcott blinked, "Actually, why is he here? He's only, what, eighteen? That's our nephew's age. Velocity is the one who saved our daughter."

Triumph coughed, "Well you see, the reason for that is because…" Ah yes, time for a PRT trademarked awkward reveal. He takes off his helmet in such a way to obscure his face for the longest time, holding it directly in front of his face. This generates suspense in the people before him.

Dinah gasped, "That's Rory under there!"

Cue shocked faces. Mouths opening and closing. No sound coming out. Much shock. Oh wow, who would have thought. Unbelievable. The hero who has the same height, age, sex, body type, and skin color as our nephew who works for the PRT, is our nephew. What a twist.

I stayed silent for a few minutes longer. Past all their stuttering, confusion, befuddlement, after Triumph answered their most pertinent questions. You see this a few times, you've seen them all. So melodramatic.

I glanced over at Dinah, who was just bouncing around asking all sorts of questions. Ah, the innocence of youth. The world will probably grind it out of her by the time she's sixteen.

After another few minutes, everyone forgetting my low key bitchiness, I cleared my throat, "So, you can see our options. Wards here in Brockton Bay, Watchdog, or Wards outside the city. Simply put, only the first two are any good. Watchdog is safer, but she'll have to move out to New York at the least. On the other hand, stay here and Rory and his parents, your in-laws, can go over how it's actually pretty safe, all things considered.

"The villains who wanted Dinah are still out there. But she's safe in PRT HQ with the Wards and a large contingent of PRT troopers. We can keep her here for now, and if you do decide with the Watchdog option, I can try to get Strider or another Mover cape to bring Dinah safely out of the city."

With our prison transport breakout ratio, there was no way were we moving Dinah by car.

Time passed, and we all hammered out plans and contingencies. The Alcotts were wary of putting their child into the local child soldier program, but were also wary of moving to San Francisco. Made sense, it's San Francisco after all.

Eventually, they all left my office, save for Triumph, who wanted to ask me something.

"Director ma'am, I, uh, would like to thank you."

I looked up from my sandwich. Gotta love my secretary, "Oh? What for?"

He scratched his arm, "Dinah said you gave her and her parents your number way back, back at that social a year ago. And you gave them to my parents as a just in case too."

It was the prudent thing to do. They were prime kidnapping material.

"I'll be honest, my dad and I laughed at the whole thing, threw it away because we thought you were paranoid. Uncle Jeb only kept his because he forgot to throw it away."

Oh wow, dumb luck actually working in my favor for once. That's not foreboding at all. Still, it was a small victory, "As your superior, I told you so. Neener neener," I said it slowly and dispassionately, if only because someone acknowledging I was right was honestly dumbfounding, "Triumph, I've been in this job for a decade. People die or have worse happen on a regular basis. It's better on your mind and spirit to prepare for the absolute worst than to look back and wonder 'if only'. You're young, a new member of the Protectorate. The PRT may have oversight, but you've got to take your paranoia for yourself. We can't look after everything, we're only human."

I stuck my finger out, "Learn from your mistakes and victories, Triumph. But also learn to let things go. Dismissed."

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am."

He left, and I was alone with my sandwich. There was too much mustard.

—

A notification popped up on my desktop. Not unusual, but it was odd that it came from PHO off all places. While it would be improper for the local PRT director to be trawling around the rumor mill, I still had the account just in case. To be able to reach me on an account that never posted meant some kind of Thinker or Tinker tomfoolery was involved. Whoever it was has parahuman abilities or resources, which was my field of expertise, unfortunately.

Either that or a spambot finally got through the cracks, you never know.

I opened up the message, which was titled "IMPORTANT - READ IMMEDIATELY, NOT A SPAMBOT", which was reassuring.

"Dear Director Piggot,

My name is Tattletale, resident psychic of the Undersiders, gentlemen thieves and escape artist extraordinaires—"

I scrolled through it for a bit, past the flowery language that was probably not written by her, until I got to the point.

A recap of the bank robbery, but from their perspective. Standard activity, names censored, oh a bit where Glory Girl and Panacea threatened them with cancer, torture, maiming, and just being terrible people all around. And Marquis is Panacea's biological father, but that's not much of a surprise.

So, what was the point of the message? Thinkers tend to tell the truth, only to cushion the truth in layers of bullshit, twisting the truth to further their message and get their listeners to agree with what they hope to accomplish. The obvious ploy here is for me to disregard this message now, but then later on have the distrust and doubt eat away at me and cause me to stop whatever I was doing in the nick of time.

This could also be a tiny piece in a larger game, one I have no possibility of comprehending without a pre- and postcognitive flow chart. Or maybe a normally comprehensible plan that I know not the goal nor the conspirators. PRT protocol is something that is excellent on paper but in the actual moment is barely remembered because of course you're going to try to stab the big angry wall of meat, doing anything else was counterintuitive. PRT protocol for Thinker mind games is to never talk and never listen.

Thus, for now, I resolve to do nothing. I'll contact Watchdog soon, in the vain hope they can unravel this. The best course of action is to not let this message mess with my current actions, because that is their goal.

So where was I? Ah, yes.

Classic five man band: Leader, Lancer, Big Guy, the Smart Guy, the Chick, the Sixth Ranger. There's also the Heart in there too, but that's synonymous with Chick usually. Tattletale is the smart guy, Grue is the big guy, Regent is either lancer or chick, same with Hellhound. Hellhound is an orphan, so she's more likely to be chick. What does that make bug girl? Leader or lancer?

Who was their sixth ranger? Had they not joined yet? Or had they joined and kept a low profile, making bug girl the sixth ranger?

Or maybe I'm going about it the wrong way? I can use the Wards as some warped funhouse mirror. Currently, we have Aegis, resident big guy and leader, meaning that Grue is somehow the leader of the Undersiders. Uh huh. Sure.

Kid Win is the default smart guy, even if Tinkers aren't really that much smarter on average, but then again the same could be said for Thinkers. What, was Tattletale bullied as a kid?

Vista is token kid/mascot, but secretly the lancer due to being on the team for so long. I have no idea who she mirrors. Browbeat is the sixth ranger, meaning Clockblocker and Gallant are just sort of there.

Shadow Stalker is the chick? That can't be right. Maybe she's a dark chick? Right, if the heroes are villains, that means the villains are heroes and yada yada. That means the Wards are the ironically evil counterparts to the Undersiders. Kid Win is evil genius, Aegis is the brute, there's a dragon, big bad, and a sixth ranger traitor.

Browbeat as a traitor just sounds stupid. The sixth member of the Wards' current roster is Shadow Stalker, but who would she betray us for? Coil, Faultline, Merchants, non-local villains, New Wave? She just wants free reign to shoot people with arrows, and the only real groups for that were the S9 and the Teeth.

I'll have to check in with Boston I suppose. Of course that assumes you completely ignore Browbeat, make Vista the Chick and the Heart, which almost works. She even has a crush on Gallant, the emotion guru, who could be the real Heart, if things lined up. But what about Clockblocker? And Browbeat? Is Browbeat the big guy because Aegis is already the leader? Does that make Clockblocker the lancer?

Okay, Aegis the leader, Vista the chick/kid, Gallant the heart, Clockblocker the lancer, Browbeat the big guy, Kid Win the smart guy, Shadow Stalker the… what? This actually works?

That can't be right, it's too clean, too neat. Something has to be off. Reality never quite matches the ideal.

Ah yes, that's right, I almost forgot. The heroes aren't the heroes, so they only appear to follow the five man band rules. It's a plot twist waiting to happen. Or a slow realization as the actual "hero(es)" become more jaded as they realize the reality of their situation or something.

If I were to use this model to fill in the gaps for the Undersiders, I can at least vaguely guess their social dynamics. I'm sure it'll come in handy one day. Maybe Regent can one day switch sides.

Wait a minute, aren't Queen Regents usually evil? They marry the true king, have a kid, then murder the king, ruling in his stead as the child grows up, molded by the regent into a puppet.

What, does that mean Regent can puppet master people? I wouldn't be surprised. That said, the amount of human Masters on the east coast is limited. It's more likely to be a current cape that has taken up a new identity than an entirely new person. A relative of a current cape is also likely, so I'll have to do some more digging into Regent. If that is her real name.

I mean that's not her actual name I mean— you know what, let's just go with that.

—

I don't visit the Rig very often. It's located offshore and surrounded by a forcefield, making it a hassle to enter and exit. The flock of tourists in tacky Hawaiian shirts just being so awestruck by literally everything just made it more irritating to travel to.

But today, I had no luxury of pretending to be mildly seasick, or ordering the heroes over to PRT HQ. Today, I was going to be interrogating a prisoner, one that cannot be allowed to leave the Rig until we can have him shipped off.

Today I was meeting Lung. So here I was, ironically wearing a life jacket as I took a speedboat out towards my death. If I die, I hope someone solves my murder, even if 50% of homicides go unsolved. When it comes to parahumans it's generally very distinct murder weapons and crime scenes, unless it was a Thinker. And my death would be watched by multiple witnesses by remote camera as I walked into a cell with only Lung inside.

I mean yeah, Strider could pop in and knife me, but accusing him of creating reasonable doubt by merely existing was unfair.

God I hope I didn't jinx this and this becomes a locked room murder with a ridiculous solution. Lung as the literal red herring is funny, as the carp that climbed a waterfall to become a dragon. Yeah I read! The ABB pamphlets are surprisingly educational. I finished another one as my boat passed through a small hole in the forcefield.

So yes, no murder hopefully, just a nice chat with a supervillain that once 1v1'd an Endbringer. And was known for having a violent temper. And had been locked up for days now, having almost died in can be construed to have been a purposeful attack by my subordinate.

My speedboat docked and was hoisted up into the rig platform. Miss Militia greeted me with that overly enthusiastic smile that weirded me out. That smile might be the last person I see, sadly. Hopefully Lung gives me a better grin.

"Director," she saluted.

I nodded my head, "At ease, Militia."

She violently shook for a brief second. The soldier behind me didn't seem to notice, or at least pretended not to. Probably for the best, since rocking the boat that was Every Gun Lady's personal psychotic issues would end in disaster. Time to meet Lung and get this over with.

Directors meeting with villains wasn't unheard of, Tagg did it a few times before he was indisposed, and I knew Armstrong and the guy in Austin did too. Those times were usually recruitment pitches, throwing the book at capes we had by the balls, or interrogation.

"Out of the frying pan, and into the fire," I sighed as we began walking. You know, because Lung is a pyrokinetic.

She was behind me, but I swore I heard Miss Militia giggling. Fucking capes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to point out that this entire chapter takes place in less than a six hour timespan, when the previous chapter was spread out over a month and a half. Next chapter is going to get crazy. That being said, I severely underestimated the time I'm spending at school, so the next chapter might take a while.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

—

It's alright Emily, no pressure. It's all going to be fine, it's just Lung after all. Just a parahuman who once fought an Endbringer one-on-one. Nothing to worry about. You've gone against worse. Nilbog is a horror show and you've punched him in the face, it's all good. Sure, I broke my hand and one of my kidneys exploded, but it wasn't too bad.

Lung's also been heavily sedated. Yes, it's very likely someone on the rig is an ABB mole, but that's par for the course. Murdering me would also be counterproductive. Tick off the PRT while doing nothing to reduce its manpower. Sure, Strider can still shank me unexpectedly and pin the blame on someone else, starting a gang war that'll probably benefit Calvert in some way, but that was just the anxiety getting to me. I should really ask my doctor about that.

Later. After the current crises.

I walked into the cell house, housing all the jail cells designed to hold parahumans currently in captivity. As it was, only one of them was currently occupied. It was a gray hallway, with several guards patrolling the edges and occasionally checking up on the sole prisoner.

The elevator down into the rig's brig was unbearably slow, almost wiggling in its descent. My bulletproof pantsuit was starting to get warm, and I began to wonder what happens to kevlar when it caught on fire. This was a terrible idea, and an insane one, but I had to do my job, and if it meant sowing discord amongst power hungry parahumans, so be it. Fire isn't forever.

Fire isn't forever.

The elevator made a dinging sound as it opened up on the second lowest level, where the especially dangerous parahumans were kept. Which was all of them, since we never had more than two or three at a time. Did the Butcher count as two parahumans or only one? Because that might raise the record up.

I left the elevator and walked to the cell. There was an inch thick wall of bulletproof, heat proof glass between us, but that didn't make me feel any better. I checked to see if Miss Militia was watching, and sure enough she was, through a camera. In front of the cell itself was a table and folding chair set up for me, and I gladly sat down, eyeing the sleeping giant.

Well, he was neither sleeping nor a giant. His eyes were bloodshot and open, glaring me down, and as I stared upon the so-called Dragon of Kyushu, I couldn't help but think he looked utterly human.

"I thought you'd be taller." Shit wait, that was supposed to be narration.

His face twisted into what would have been a snarl if he was transformed. Instead, he just looked like an average angry man, "You must be the most pitiful and weak creature I have ever set my eyes upon," he spoke in a deep baritone, "Why are you here?"

I swallowed. In for a penny, "Emily Piggot, Director of the Parahuman Response Team, East Northeast. I'm here because I have business with you."

"Well, this is a surprise. I assumed you would have sent me off already to that inescapable prison of yours," he bared his teeth, which looked more ridiculous than anything, since he looked like a human, not a dragon. In fact, he didn't even look like he even reached six feet in height right now. As a human, he looked dreadfully average.

"We're not stupid, Lung. We all know you're going to be broken out of here eventually. I'm just here to relay a warning."

He snorted, which also looked ridiculous. Seriously, why wasn't he ramping up?

"Your new minion, Bakuda. She's clearly betrayed you and taken over your gang. We think she's going to break you out, kill you in the crossfire, and blame it on us.

Another snort, but this one came with a bit of flame, "I see through your ploy, but I admit it is amusing to hear such a blatant attempt nonetheless."

I sighed. This was normal, "You were informed you almost died, correct? I can't imagine you being taken down by some meddling teenagers."

He snarled, a puff of smoke radiating from his face. I smirked at that, "Oh? Did I touch a nerve? So the rumors are true then, some kids beat you, the mighty Dragon of Kyushu."

"Better than the so-called, false Empire and what your band of misfit heroes could do," he said. It came out faster than he probably would have wanted. That was also when he grew an entire inch taller. Ah, I see. He didn't see me as a threat before.

I shrugged, "Luck of the draw, I suppose. Besides Armsmaster and Dauntless, none of the Protectorate can do much against a fire breathing dragon. They simply had the better pieces. But that's not what this is about. After all, even if those kids had the right combination of powers and skill to defeat you, there's still something wrong."

Lung seemed to have calmed down, ever so slightly. And shrank down an inch. Was that really his actual, non enhanced height? Wow. Rude, thinking I'm not a threat. Whatever. "Oh? Was it the attempted assassination by your own minion?"

I raised an eyebrow, "That's the rub, isn't it? The thing is, your regeneration and heart didn't start failing until after you'd reached the hospital. Not only that, but Armsmaster's tranquilizers were determined to be too weak to properly sedate you, never mind overdosing. We have no wish to hospitalize you, only for Panacea to heal you. We now owe New Wave a favor, something that could be problematic in the future."

"A small favor in exchange for a great boon. In chess, that would be like sacrificing a pawn for a queen," Lung twitched.

"I wouldn't know, I don't play chess."

"Hmph, neither do I."

After a brief silence, I spoke again, "I'm just here to give you a warning, that's all. My goal is to protect the city and its inhabitants, and at the very least, I want you two to contain your infighting, not have it spill out all over the city."

"Our business is our business. The PRT has no power to say otherwise. It's good to see you learning your place, instead of sticking your noses where they don't belong."

I scowled. Lung barked out in laughter, "Ah, I see I've touched a nerve. Begone, little lady."

I checked my watch, "I still have a few minutes before my next meeting. I think I'll sit for a while," I said as I pulled out one of the ABB pamphlets I was perusing.

He growled continuously, which was silly since he was definitely 100% human for the entire duration.

—

So once we were back on the mainland, I returned to my office while she went off on patrol. The PRT was, technically, a law enforcement agency, and thus did investigative work. We don't officially refer to our employees as 'troopers' or 'soldiers', they're agents and officers. Despite the fact that we're wearing body armor and have strike squads with military training. Or the fact that we have a missile defense system 'just in case'. Because of this technicality, we must have a designated loose cannon cop on our payroll. Luckily, it turned out to be Miss Militia, who minimized collateral damage and lawsuits. Freedom and justice and all that.

She can be the loose cannon cop, do her regular duties, _and_ supervise the Wards thanks to her supernatural and cheating ability to never sleep. An extra six hours every day means I can offload more work on her dependable ass. She may be a weirdo, but she does her job well.

However, I had to be careful. We are the antagonists, the faceless bureaucratic machine that grinds up hope and turns it into action figures. The exact specifics don't matter at this point. What matters is that, as the antagonists, my implicitly allowing Miss Militia to skirt the rules and regulations would therefore be clear evidence of corruption.

It leaves me, the police chief/commissioner in a tough bind. Allow Militia to break some laws and be complicit in the eyes of the PRT-hating protagonists, or punish her when she inevitably does something morally shady. Or even legally gray. She's going to. Miss Militia is the embodiment of American ideals, which includes the CIA and the NSA after all.

When I do break convention and punish her for doing something reprehensible, I fear karma itself will smite me where I stand, probably within a few days or less. After all, no good deed goes unpunished. That was in the future however, a hypothetical inevitable weeks or even years off. Back to something less lofty.

After the Undersiders did their thing at the bank and the whole Lung fiasco, Watchdog analysts, parahumans and mundanes alike, were scrambling for info regarding the newest teen villain group. The results were less than ideal.

Tattletale was still unknown, although we did confirm that she was a natural blonde teenager between the ages of fifteen and nineteen. At least she wasn't another shapeshifter. Hellhound was confirmed to be working willingly, to my own dismay, and still Rachel Lindt, which was obvious. Grue was a mystery, although one Thinker confirmed the existence of a younger sibling.

Regent was concerning. We had him pegged as a low level human Master, and we were right, mostly. However, said low rating came with a caveat: he was definitely previously known as Hijack, one of Heartbreaker's kids turned gang lieutenants. I stared at the homicide reports of the murders he definitely committed for almost an hour.

Same hair, height, age and build matches, abilities were similar enough to be different applications of the same power, it all fit. Oh, and Regent was a boy. I really hope no one points out my mistake in my reports.

So that made two murderers on the same team. Now, Hellhound's situation was almost assuredly extenuating circumstances, but could the same be said for Regent? What was he doing here in Brockton Bay, away from his father? Maybe it's related to Cherish disappearing from Montreal?

My gut says runaway, and really, who wouldn't want to run away from home if your dad was fucking Heartbreaker. No, I mean, his dad _is_ Heartbreaker, not that he was in a relationship with—okay, I'm moving forward.

Assuming Regent is a runaway, running away from Nikos Vasil, the worst villain in Canada outside the Birdcage, what does that mean? Well, the psychological profile made up for Vasil is that he's highly possessive and moderately impulsive, meaning that… he'll probably come to Brockton Bay when he finds out where Regent is.

We'll have to get everyone up to speed on protocols when dealing with Vasil and his kids, mostly emotion and loyalty manipulation, some physical body hijacking, just your general horror show of a Quebecois cape carnival.

So, who among our group is going to end up mind controlled? Armsmaster is always a solid choice, as the leader and all, but he's currently being subverted by Bakuda. Most of Heartbreaker's kids are on the younger side, so it will likely skew towards the Wards. Fun.

Realistically, they all were potential victims, except Gallant, who probably has a resistance. This will have to be dealt with eventually, but not now. Right now, all of our squads were spread out, covertly sweeping for bombs and lowering numbers in crowded places.

The most likely place to look for bombs would be: enemy gang hideouts, places with loads of people, government buildings, bus and transportation facilities, and the places where the most evil can be committed. As such, all schools and daycares have been closed down, all hospitals were checked frequently, and government buildings have a shrunken capacity. Armsmaster was checking all of those places frequently, having actually found a few bombs.

I was tempted to use my singular contact to Tattletale, the Thinker who reasonably could help, but that was risky. Who knew what was going on, and what her role in this was. For all I knew, this was a ploy.

Thinkers were annoying on the best of days, but they were useful. It's a shame we don't have— wait a minute.

—

"Thank you for coming. It's very brave of you, Dinah," I smiled at the Alcotts sitting in front of me. Beside them was a voice recorder, picking up every detail to be sent to our local analysts for clues.

"I wanna help," Dinah said, with one of the most serious looks I'd ever seen on a child so young. The things this world does to kids.

"How many questions can you do today, Dinah?" Mrs. Alcott asked as she squeezed her daughter.

"Four. No, five," Dinah said softly.

"Don't push yourself too hard," her mother whispered.

"I wanna, mom."

Mrs. Alcott looked at her husband, then at me before nodding.

I pulled out a sheaf of papers and handed the top document to the Alcotts, "Before we go ahead, we should pick out a name for you, Dinah."

"Name?" she asked.

"A hero name of course, like Armsmaster or Legend," I explained, "The available choices shrink with every day, so we should have done this earlier."

That, and I really should stop referring to Dinah by name. Never know when an enemy telepath is listening to my thoughts. And yes, I'm one of those people who believes telepaths exist, because _of course they do_. The skeptics who say they're impossible are high off their own asses. Precognition and unaided humanoid flight are also impossible, but guess what?

"Ooh! Can I be Oracle!" Dinah chippered right up.

"Taken. Rogue in Toronto and a villain in Las Vegas."

"Delphi?" Mrs. Alcott proposed.

"Ward in Ontario." Ah yes, here's the fun part.

"Seer?" Dinah's father asked.

"Two different villains in Britain, and a rogue in the midwest somewhere."

"Number Girl."

"There's already a Number Man, a supervillain who does black market banking all across the world."

"Calculator."

"Former Slaughterhouse Nine member."

"Augur."

"Geese-sell-schaft member."

"I think it's pronounced Gesellschaft," Dinah's father said.

"Do I look like I care about the correct pronunciation of a European terrorist cell?" I raised an eyebrow and he shut up.

"One. Like the number."

"CUI member."

"Zero?"

"All whole numbers are taken by them."

"Infinity?"

"The most insufferable Master/Striker in Washington state."

"Prophet."

"Pretentious, and taken by a member of the Fallen."

"Solomon."

"Every cape who has taken the name was mastered by the Simurgh within two years. Currently taken by a French villain."

"Nostradamus."

"Watchdog member."

"Psy. Like the first part of psychic."

"Member of the FBI that we really should recruit into Watchdog."

"Psych?"

"Psych Man is a rogue cape somewhere in California."

"But not Psych?"

"I believe it's also a musical."

"Psyker?"

"Trademarked by a game company."

"Sybil."

"Too soon."

"Wait what?"

"The previous one died at Canberra."

"Oh, uh, sorry."

"It's not a problem. Thinking about it, we should be consulting Image about this."

"What's Image? Soothsayer."

"The PRT's Public Relations unit, making sure the public sees parahumans as part of society and all that jazz. I think that's a cape in Toronto… yes, she is."

"Cassandra?"

"Do you want no one to listen to you?"

"... no."

"Then don't choose a name like that."

"Vision."

"Sight related powers are so common, every version of vision has been taken. There is a cape out there named 'Night Vision Goggles'."

"Probability."

"Not taken, but it's a bit of a mouthful."

"Probs?"

"That just _sounds_ inappropriate, Mrs. Alcott."

"Yeah, I hear it too."

"Percentile."

"Also not taken, perhaps."

"The Mathemagician."

"..."

"..."

"... Mr. Alcott, please be serious."

"Sorry."

"I don't _hate_ it, daddy."

"It'll be our last resort."

"Is Last Resort taken?"

"Not currently. Although it sounds like the name for an S Class cape whose power has a world spanning effect and can only be used under very specific circumstances."

"So…"

"While I know you love your daughter, let's not aspire for unfathomably instrumental roles in the grand scheme of things only to be disappointed in one's mediocrity."

"That's… harsh."

"I know. Let's go with Percentile for now. How about it, Dinah?"

She smiled at me, "Yeah that's good. I'm gonna be called Last Resort when I get big and famous!" she puffed her chest out and put her hands on her hips, grinning ear to ear.

"Well then, Percentile. Let me thank you for helping the PRT by lending us your expertise. Shall we begin?" I steepled my fingers and stared directly at her.

She nodded and adjusted her mask.

"Good. Now, we haven't been able to get you power tested extensively, but we do understand some of our limits and potential. We have five questions today, and time is not on our side. I've asked Watchdog and our own Brockton Bay analysts for the questions to yield the most useful information."

—

The number of ABB members had swollen in the last few days, coming in around the same time our informants in the gang went dark, meaning all we knew from the inside was that there were now hundreds of potential bomb carriers throughout the city, and most of them were unwilling.

With our limited questions, we weren't able to determine where or when the bombs would stop going off, or where Bakuda was. There was not much we could do except wait and grit our teeth. The anticipation was killing me. I mean, faster than usual, that is. The first bombs will go off when we aren't looking. When it's the most inconvenient, when we are least prepar—

"Director, reports of explosions in the warehouse district. Seismographs confirmed it. What are your orders?"

Oh. Well, that's lame.

—

Miss Militia was the first one on the scene, but not before all of the parties involved had already left. Besides burn marks and several extremely suspicious puddles of melted human flesh, there wasn't much to go on. If we were in a less resource intensive time, I would have ordered a thorough search of all the storage units in the area, but since we had more pressing concerns, Armsmaster just did a quick sweep for bombs, tinker tech, and hidden people.

By the time we can actually look through everything, criminals would have already emptied out all of their incriminating wares. Well no matter. People moving in and out of there would mean that there would be less chance of it being a target for a future bomb, which meant we had, in theory, no further reason to patrol in the area, meaning less places to cover with our limited resources.

That was the good news. The bad news was that there were now bombs going off all over the city every few hours.

Yeah.

Requests for a Watchdog unit were still pending, because of course it was. Apparently some Elite stragglers out in Las Vegas were attempting to use Brockton Bay's current situation to pull the wool over Watchdog. Unsurprising, given their desperation.

We were still getting information, and with Percentile's own information supplementing, we were able to lower the number of bombs actually exploding by two-thirds. For every two bombs we defused, another one went off. You'd think having a precocious prepubescent precog would have solved everything, but you'd be wrong.

That was how things went for three days, until the inevitable happened.

While we were busy, Lung was broken out, as expected. He and the ABB have now turned their attention away from civilian targets and focused on the other gangs. We were still defusing bombs, but focused on the ones closer to civilian buildings and homes.

Luckily, we had moved Armsmaster's workshop off the oil rig and into PRT HQ beforehand, so Bakuda didn't swipe anything on her way out as she was breaking a dragon she tried to poison out of prison. I had also made the decision to not have any heroes stationed there, saving their strength for when Lung makes his move back on the mainland. He's the type of parahuman you fought at full force or not at all.

Despite everything, things fell into a routine again. At least until we picked up news of a villain meeting in neutral space. Fucking finally.

—

This whole operation was strictly under-the-table, the most clandestine of operations. If the PRT was going to be morally gray, we can be Orwellian to the villains, right?

Miss Militia and I huddled around Armsmaster's tinker tech radio and tuned into the Somer's Rock feed, which I've dubbed the 'Punk Rock Station'. You may clap or groan at your leisure. Armsmaster himself was listening in on his own radio built into his helmet, as he was out in the city patrolling. I tweaked the dials, switching frequencies from one of the several bugs hidden throughout the bar.

"I got something," I murmured. We picked up a few voices: gruff, masculine, and hard to distinguish. The hidden tinker tech bugs were impressive, but the sacrifice in audio quality was readily apparent.

"It sounds like someone ordering around the Valkyrie twins," Armsmaster noted, patching in while riding his motorcycle.

I nodded, "That's on 17B, 18A seems to be listening in on… Faultline?"

It was hard to make out, but Militia agreed, "It sounds like her. She seems to be feuding with someone."

Faultline and her crew were third in the running for being protagonists. They made sense: young people, technically villains due to legislation and PRT regulations but acted more like rogues, a diverse cast with an interesting base of operations, complete with a big sister mentor figure in Faultline. Not to mention Labyrinth as a fucking Shaker 12 who also had a connection to a member of the Slaughterhouse Nine.

The only thing really holding them back was their mission to uncover the hidden shadow conspiracy behind the Case 53s. It's completely absurd, and it's a coin flip on whether the secret "Omega group" exists or not. Because it's binary. Their crazy conspiracy theories were either exactly correct, or completely wrong. Or wrong but leads to the right answers. In essence, they were either protagonists or plot devices, with little in between.

We made out more conversation, and it became apparent that they were the up and coming Undersiders, "Tattletale, no doubt," I said.

"Ooh what's this?" the microphone made scratching sounds.

I groaned, "Of course she would notice the bug. It's like her power is just pulling information out of her ass."

"I think I'll hold onto you."

"What's that, Tats?"

"Oh, nothing important. Let's just get this over with."

I frowned and changed the dials, "I'm switching to 18B, now 19A—"

"Travelers, I presume."

Great, good old Max Anders was there. The fucker.

He was Kaiser, but I needed some actual evidence beyond "He has a fucking smug look only a supervillain has, is a billionaire CEO but isn't a hero, and Allfather dissappeared around the same time Anders senior croaked." Also he divorced his wife around the same time Purity left the Empire.

I _loathe_ the fact that listening to high society gossip was a legitimate and fruitful intelligence tactic. I also loathe the fact that I knew with near certainty that this nazi fucker was one of our local billionaire CEOs and I couldn't do anything about it. He was just out of reach, his tracks covered just enough that we've never had probable cause and captured gangsters would either stay silent or be mysteriously vanished before getting a chance to speak.

If there was one thing Calvert and I agreed on, it's that the Empire had to go. I always did leave out my own suspicions and research on the Empire out in the open, in an unlabeled manila folder on my desk, just close enough for good old Coil to do his fancy Thinker tricks. In exchange, he occasionally voiced his concerns about one of our lowly staffers to me, who of course always turned out to be a mole that suddenly disappeared soon after.

Like the bombs going off, we did our best, but it wasn't enough. The only reason I haven't made any large operations against the E88 in recent years was confidence that Calvert was planning something of his own. Something grandiose that would topple them in one fell swoop. I had my own contingencies for that day, and handing him Purity on a silver platter should give him the shove he needs. Because it has been _years_ and the city was dying.

Whatever happens with Purity could be the final nail in the coffin to this decade long charade of nazi whack-a-mole. Maybe I can finally read the paper and see "Actual Nazi Terrorist Billionaire in Prison". Wouldn't that be nice. I mean, I am hypothetically using another terrorist to get these racist terrorists into prison, but that's just playing your enemies against each other. I'll deal with Calvert later.

Wait, the Travelers were in town? Weren't they that roaming group of teen villains that appeared just after Madison? God damn it, there were now more teen capes per capita in Brockton Bay than the rest of the entire world. I'll have to do research on them too.

The next few minutes was just light banter and cape dick measuring contests and posturing. I zoned out for most of it, knowing I would have to relisten to the recordings later on. Yes yes we get it, you're strong so you have the right to be offended when someone steps on your toes. Tattletale pointing out that villains are planning to double cross each other as if that was a big revelation. The only thing of note was that Coil himself was not present, and instead had sent in some merc cape named Biter. I wonder if he's busy with Purity.

"Hey, who's the sweaty Asian guy?" Menja or Fenja asked. I also know their identities, since the number of blonde identical twin women in their age range was surprisingly small. I can't arrest them because I'm still not sure which was which, and that was sort of important in obtaining an arrest warrant. Damn identical twins. I never liked them, especially in mysteries.

"Yeah, hey asshat, this is a private meeting. You got balls to be here. What, did Bakuda send you to grovel?"

"N-no I-I," a man's voice choked out, as if holding back a sob, "I-I'm here to say t-that I-I'm a no g-good snitch here to p-pay back a debt and s-send a message—"

"Shit!" Tattletale yelled out, "Everyone duck! It's a bomb!"

The feed cut out with a screech. One of the PRT transponders flickered to life, "We have confirmed an explosion at 270 Mackenzie Street. Repeat, we have confirmed an explosion."

I radioed in, "All units on alert, set up a perimeter and evacuate civilians. Caution is recommended, assume multiple hostile parahumans present. Assume all of Echo 88, Faultine's Crew, The Undersiders, The Merchants, and The Travelers to have survived."

"Acknowledged, Director. All units alerted. Beginning evacuation."

"Copy that," I said hoarsely. Fuck. I knew that voice, "That was Chen. He was one of our informants in the ABB, the one who tipped us off the night Lung got captured. He was a good man."

Motherfucking supervillain fucker.

"Report! Shots fired, repeat, shots fired! Othala is down, repeat, Othala is down."

What? "Reply, is Othala down correct?"

"Yes, repeat, Othala is down. Unknown sniper shot her through the chest and she collapsed. Non incapacitated villains have dispersed. Battery and Assault have arrived on the scene at rally point A."

I looked at Miss Militia, who was biting her lip. I took a breath, "Militia, get out there and take over for Armsmaster. Armsmaster, report to the scene of the explosion and scan for tinker tech armaments."

"Acknowledged," he said over the comm. Miss Militia saluted me and left.

"Emergency workers, stay spread out and do not approach the scene until after Armsmaster has cleared the area of bombs. Repeat, do not approach until Armsmaster has given the all clear. Charlie squad, find that sniper."

"Roger," the officer at the scene replied.

—

After a few hours, we dug up a few bodies. Along with the employees of Somer's Rock, there were the remains of Squealer, Menja, Othala, Mush, and Biter. Considering the amount of capes in the building, the casualties were low.

We couldn't recover Chen's body, and since he was at the very epicenter of the blast, there probably wasn't even a body to recover at all. This one explosion nearly doubled the total number of murders on Bakuda's growing rap sheet. I had already pushed for a kill order, but it would take time. After all, Chen wasn't a superhero.

I put off organizing his memorial service for after the current situation.

Now, I had to deal with the fact that the ABB just declared war on the entire city, villains and the PRT alike. The problem was that all of the villains had scattered, and retaliation from them was going to be swift and violent. Civilian deaths from just being in the wrong place at the wrong time was going to skyrocket as this civil war became a citywide gang war.

I dialed Calvert's number.

"Hello Emily, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Cut the crap. What is your status?"

"Very well, my dear. I was able to convince Purity that rejoining the Empire was ill advised. As far as I can tell, she hasn't heard any news about Somer's Rock yet. Given the gravity of the situation, she'll learn within the hour."

I grimaced.

"Director? I would like to inform you that the Empire's leadership was temporarily incapacitated by the bomb, but their anger has infused them with fervor. Despite their losses, they plan to go on the offensive. They will reach out to her."

"Not if we reach out first," I said, "Call Purity. Tell her we're willing to play ball for the current crisis, but if she wants to be a hero, she should agree to…" Think of something, anything she'll agree to that won't grant the nazi supervillain any amnesty, "A private interview with me."

Calvert paused for a couple minutes before replying, "She agrees. She'll be available to contact through me for the current moment."

If it works, it works.

"Tell her I've got a list of probable ABB hideouts and tinker tech workshops for her to help raid," wow, having a tween precog on call was doing wonders for our productivity.

"Also, you should know, I've heard news that all of the villains at Somer's Rock have joined forces. They're going out in mixed groups to combat the ABB, although that's all I've heard."

Hmm. Considering they have their own bullshit Thinker on their side, they could end up encountering our own troops at targeted locations.

"Oh, and that Uber and Leet have, unfortunately, have become minions for Bakuda, even building her some armor and technology, even participated in that first bombing of hers."

I frowned at that. Looks like I lost my bet on who would be the secret badass of this city, "Well, it seems the two of them have lost any leeway they had."

Well, leeway was a stretch. They were just too low a priority before. Now we'll just have to arrest them along with the ABB.

"Good job Calvert, you just might get that promotion yet," If you mention promotions, and the promoter dies, it'll look suspicious for whomever gets promoted. You've got to make your own murder mystery clues when talking to a vulture like Calvert.

"Well thank you for the compliment, Emily. Calvert out."

I took a deep breath before I began calling up the Protectorate, New Wave, and any other affiliated independent capes in the city. We even had a couple heroes from the Boston branch fly in to help. PRT squads were also being formed left and right, ready for mobilization with bomb units and coordination with superheroes. It's time to make our own mixed hero teams, because parallels were important.

—

This would normally be the time for me to hold a big meeting with all of the associated heroes and personnel, probably in a conference room with a neat slideshow an analyst had prepared. That won't be happening because that's just Somer's Rock but with worse refreshments. Instead, we had Velocity and Battery acting as couriers with letters containing instructions and meeting times for our covert mission. Meeting times, who to expect, with each group having one person who knew the location and specifics of the raid.

As the Director directing everything, I knew all of the information, and let me tell you, it has been a long while since we've organized something on this scale. We had to go all in, and I had to bank on Bakuda being too busy to bother attacking PRT HQ. That was why Miss Militia was out on the front lines, and not just because I could sense her trigger finger getting itchy.

In just a few moments, the raids would begin simultaneously, aiming specifically for the tinker tech workshops.

—

I left the actual coordination to the on scene commanders, although I did keep a close eye on the team with Purity. I had to be careful when composing that one, making sure to maximize safety for our members, while also ensuring Purity got the message.

Calvert was in charge of that particular team as they raided a conventional weapons depot. I wasn't letting him or Purity near a tinker tech trove, obviously. It was so nice to consolidate your suspicious subordinates into one squad, it just eased the tension with the remaining groups. Which was also why Battery was there too.

We hit tinker tech workshops, weapons depots, drug and money caches, and to our disgust, a human trafficking center. I won't go into details because I'd rather not sicken my mind further if I can help it.

More explosions rang out across the city, until they all suddenly stopped. We didn't encounter Lung, Bakuda, or Oni Lee that evening, and it was apparent why. We received an anonymous phone call, leading us to a warehouse with an unconscious Lung with his eyes carved out, an unconscious Bakuda with her toes lost, and a blindfolded Oni Lee tied up like a turkey.

We carted them out, and with some help from the police, we were able to break down the Azn Bad Boys all at once, from their income to their leaders. The rank and file would scatter to the winds, surfacing again only in small isolated pockets. It would take quite some effort and manpower to bring the ABB back.

For the first time in a decade, an entire gang was dissolved.

The day after they were arrested, the approval for Bakuda's kill order came through. That sounds about right. I should have written it up beforehand, in hindsight.

Still, what did that mean? We were now living in a Lung-less Brockton Bay, a city teeming full of bottom feeder nazis with no fire breathing dragon to keep them in check, and I had just recruited a nazi supervillain. This was not going to end well.

At least Calvert would go down with me, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I'm not dead! This chapter did not want to be written, it was just a collection of disjointed scenes that took a while to connect. If you're wondering about Miss Militia, the earlier drafts of this chapter had her play a bigger role, but I couldn't work past writer's block for them. In fact, she was the original POV of this chapter, before I remembered that Piggot's narration was the entire selling point of this story. Hopefully the next chapter, which is a short interlude not from Piggot's POV, will lend some much needed context. It's also pretty much finished, so it should come out just shortly after.


	4. Chapter 4 - Canary Interlude

**Chapter 4 - Canary Interlude**

—

Light flickered across my eyes as I awoke. Tasting my own tongue, I groggily sat up.

"Hey you, you're finally awake. We're just about to cross the border, you know," a woman said.

I was surrounded on all sides in gleaming metal, having not seen the sun in days. The transport I was in hummed as we traveled into Canada on the way to the Birdcage. The end of the line.

"Hey birdie, you look kinda familiar. Hmmm oh! You're Bad Canary aren't ya?" I glanced over at the other prisoner, a dark haired woman about my age, maybe a bit younger. I didn't want to talk, and even if I did, I couldn't. Stupid mask covering my mouth.

"You are! Oh man, I am a big fan of your work. I'm Bakuda, the greatest bomb maker on Earth," she held out her hands as if to shake, even though they were handcuffed and covered in a large tinker tech gauntlet. Even if they were free, I wouldn't want to shake her hands. The blood on them must have been unimaginable. At least, that would have been my assumption.

She leaned back against the wall, humming a jaunty tune, Didn't she get what was happening? Where we were going? I huffed and turned to the side. There was banal elevator music playing, and I tried to make up lyrics to it, knowing it would be the last music I'd ever hear.

At least it wasn't one of my songs.

"Hey can I monologue to you? I haven't made a good monologue in weeks. Damn suits wouldn't let me at my trial. Had me gagged like you, which was lame. I don't even have a voice controlled power, they just thought I was annoying," she barked out a laugh.

"Well I'm gonna monologue whether you want it or not. So I dunno if you've heard my tale, hard to know what news gets to ya out in jail. Well, I'll fill you in. I was once a star student at corn' uni, but some bad decisions and an existential crisis later, and I found myself on the laser end of good ol' Leggy, who didn't take too kindly to my uh, advanced extortion techniques. Luckily I had an escape plan, which was to explode myself and land far away. It failed because lasers. So then, as luck would have it, I was recruited-slash-kidnapped by this dragon fella, Lung, who brought me into his study group-slash-fundraiser.

"Except it wasn't a study group, it was a gang, but y'know, they fundraised themselves with drugs and human trafficking. Didn't care too much for that, but hey, I had a lab, not in jail, and not being chased by Laserman. I was living the good life. Then some kind of bullshit happened, Lung fought some kiddie gang, got captured by the Protecties, then almost died from some drug their Tinker pumped into him, and then they blamed _me_ for it!" Bakuda raised her prison gauntlet in the air and flailed.

"Man, so then the boss was gone, and I had to consolidate power because Oni Lee wasn't gonna, and you know how it is with gangsters, they all want a bigger slice of the pie. Took some elbow grease, and I had to acquire some additional manpower because I had to make a big distraction so I could break Lung out of jail and explain myself. But _then_ this PRT bigwig talked to him, making me out as some traitorous bitch, so that was no longer an option. But I still had to break him out, ya know? I had already planted the bombs and they were being slowly defused, and I couldn't just waste them."

Bakuda scratched her chin with her gauntlet, "So I was breaking out Lung, but he thinks I betrayed him, or would begin suspecting I was, probably at like the most inconvenient time too, and betray me before I betrayed him. So I had to betray him before he betrayed me for betraying him, but that was just playing into the big wig's hand. So I decided I had to make it impossible for us to betray each other by throwing everyone else against us. So I blew up a villain truce meeting, after I found this total snitch named Chenny."

She took a deep breath, "But then Chenny boy wouldn't stick to the script I gave him, even after I put my most miniaturized bomb in his head. He was _supposed_ to turn everyone there against us _and_ the PRT, get everyone against us but also fight the cops, creating enough chaos that we could take advantage of. I mean, Lung fought off all the heroes in the city once before, we were probably fine, with my support.

"At least we took out the crazy 88's healer. That's always the first step, take out the healer. 'Course the sniper I hired off of Craigslist got the shit beaten out of him by another sniper that just happened to also be there, but they apparently had the same target, so it all worked out in the end," Bakuda sighed, "Well we lost anyways, but hey, that's what I get for running into a protag. I could tell once I found out she beat Lung _and_ joined the gang with the best name. I mean, bug powers and she still beat Lung? That's some bullshit right there."

She took a deep breath, "But I think I gave a good enough showing to be a fan favorite and get my own spinoff. I can't be going to prison now, my story's just getting started. After all, villain protagonists are in vogue," she gave a wide smile that put me on alert.

"So, just a bit of a heads up, things are going to get crazy, mmkay? So just stand still and don't hold your breath," that was when Bakuda slid out a paperclip hidden in her hair and put it on her gauntlets, "See, my new benefactors, unlike your old ones, actually care if I go to prison or not. Well, they're like yours, pragmatic to the core, but I'm useful. I'm going to help them rebuild their power base on the West Coast after they collapsed."

I raised an eyebrow. That sounded like a jailbreak was happening.

"'Course, I'm a bomb maker, I can only do so much. Taking control of people by putting explosives on them is only a good short term option. What their power base needs is manpower, loyal and hardworking and not acting under constant fear of death. Well, a constant fear is good, just not so much that they're sweating out of their shirts."

She had taken the paperclip, and with her mouth, unlocked the cuffs, "So that's where you come in, birdie. Your little hypnosis trick can help us get off our feet. Beats going to prison, right?"

Was she serious? Really? This kind of pitch?

"Come on, don't give me that look. It's either me or nothing, you understand? Not like anyone else cares. Your asshole of an ex got you sent here, and so did the jury, the media, and half the public. Even your loyal fans blanched at the news, ya know. Not me though. I was one of your biggest supporters. Listened to every song and went to a couple concerts too. Never got a poster though, my wall back home was used for other stuff," she sighed, "If I had my powers back when your trial happened, I know I would've done something."

She only had her powers for such a short time. Who am I dealing with?

"Anyways, I won't force ya. I _will_ set you free though, for all those times I illegally downloaded your music. The thing about containment foam is that it's a potent shock absorber, it takes in all of the kinetic force under a certain threshold," she took the reassembled gauntlet and held it up to the camera. That was when the confoam started spewing all over us.

"Just breathe normally and don't worry about what happens—" I couldn't hear her anymore. Everything was just blackness.

The ground shook. I felt a tingling sensation in my belly, the kind I only had when I was flying. Oh no.

I blacked out then, if only because this had to be a nightmare.

—

"Hey birdie, wake up. We're here."

My eyes fluttered open, "Bwuh?" Wait. I could speak!

"Took it off before you woke up. I've got a bag here with clothes, hair dye, and some fake IDs for you, if you want to leave," Bakuda smiled at me, "We're in French Canada now, I think. Smells French at least. My bomb should have thrown us as far as it could. Can't believe it worked as well as it did, I hoped Dragon didn't use Armsmaster's sweeper yet, and she didn't."

She stood up, wearing a blue baseball cap on her head and a red jacket over a green tee, looking completely not-insane.

Except she totally was. "You're mad."

I'm an idiot, first words out of my mouth in weeks and it's insulting the mad bomber who broke me out of prison.

She barked out a laugh, "'Course I am! A sane bomber's not even a bomber, ya know? Gotta be a little crazy to do my actual job."

I coughed a bit, "I- uh, thank you. But I don't think..."

"Don't worry about it. If you don't join up, I have a backup in mind."

French Canada. Wait, that would mean…

"No, I want to go with you," I blurted out. Heartbreaker, really? This was… No, it had to be me.

Her smile widened, "Well then. Welcome to the Elite, and I'm your new boss. Come on, we've gotta hike a few miles to the next city, then we can catch a bus back to the States."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how to write a Boston accent.
> 
> Bakuda's plan to escape was to place bombs underneath the path on the way to the Birdcage, trigger the shock absorbing containment foam sprayers to fill the entire chamber, then blast off far away. Also yes, there is an AU element here of the Elite being largely dismantled, due to the many many butterflies that have emerged over the past decade.
> 
> Also, I don't plan on writing any more chapters about these two, just know they're in the background doing things.


End file.
